To Stand Among Ruins
by Windcage
Summary: To say the Agreste family lies in ruins is nothing short of an understatement, Gabriel's grief having anchored him so deep to the past and the wife he lost, he is unable to face the present and a son who needs him - who hasn't given up on him. Will they remember to walk in the same direction and not leave each other behind?
1. Wailer

**Adrien**

The large iron gates were all the way across the street, tall and imposing just like the _château_ behind them, the high walls and metal protections rising to almost cover the second floor making it look just like a fortress—or a prison.

For Adrien, dropping between two nearby buildings, his Miraculous giving out one last warning before his transformation collapsed, it had looked like a prison since, not that many months ago, his father had uprooted both of them and Nathalie from the countryside and brought them back to the center of the city, back to a house he remembered from his childhood, from a time when his mother was still here and weeks of renovations hadn't so imposed his father's personality over every single corner of the building that its familiar façade didn't hide an almost unrecognizable interior. All of it sharp and martial lines. Modern. Beautiful. And intimidating.

He hated it.

He didn't remember hating anything more than he did this house. Even his mother's presence, lurking at every corner, making him feel like she really was there only forever out of reach, was more painful than comforting. The day he had made a break for it, evading the ever vigilant Nathalie and his bodyguard to get to school, he had felt he was suffocating, dying inside this great mausoleum. Was it not for Plagg and he would probably still be feeling like that and maybe that was the reason the still dizzy kwami, peeking from over his shoulder into the lamp illuminated lane, looked so confused.

"What got into you?" he queried. "You ran away from Ladybug, didn't even say goodbye—"

"I have to get home."

"You never want to get home."

Yes, and the day he did, Hawkmoth had to have time on his hands, his akumas had to be flying all over the city and not giving him or Ladybug a minute's peace. This situation they had just solved? That had been the fourth attack today. And honestly it was bad enough one of the earlier ones had targeted his father—all but wrecking Adrien's certainties he was far too proud to ever fall for whatever persuasive methods Hawkmoth employed—to also know that, today of all days, the very same day he had a family dinner _scheduled_ , he was late.

"Okay… now!"

Plagg dived inside his shirt pocket, getting into cover just as the security camera on the nearest corner of the house wall turned, losing sight of the alley where they stood. Jumping out, managing to dive inside the subway station just in the nick of time, Adrien sighed with relief as he joined the people climbing up towards the street and got in full view of the camera now returning to its initial position.

"You are acting really weird!" Plagg sing-sang happily from the pocket, his voice making a couple of passer-bys glance behind. _Please think it is the phone!_ "So, so weir—Oh! _Goodies!_ "

That… had sounded just like Plagg had found the emergency cheese he kept on his pocket. It also sounded like he was unpacking it.

"That is not for now, Plagg!"

"But Adrien!"

"Drop the cheese."

"Just a nibble?"

There was no way any of these people near the pedestrian crossing could possibly think he was fighting with his phone, was there?

Giving an elderly woman an innocent smile, now battling Plagg through the fabric of his shirt, Adrien looked at the sign, the changing light seeing him sprint to the other side of the street, running all the way to the gate and hitting the doorbell.

That he knew exactly who was on the other side of the security optic without anyone having to say a word, spoke a lot of the house's two other residents' very different optic-wielding-abilities.

"Hi, Nathalie."

The gate opened with a loud electric buzz and he was inside. Pressing himself between the two gates before they even finished opening. Sprinting across the well-illuminated courtyard. Jumping up the stairs to open the heavy oak door, get inside and—

"You are late."

—skid right pass the dark-haired woman who had addressed him, his hands reaching out to grab hold of the stairs handrail least he went straight pass not only her but the stairs and managed to trip inside the service corridor on the back.

Getting back his balance, going to stand on the black and white entryway, patting, he finally managed to talk.

"I'm sorry. Some akumatized person was wrecking havoc at the _Centre Pompidou_. There was traffic. I—"

Nathalie frowned, glancing at the window.

"I don't see the car."

"I jumped out of the back seat, came by subway." It was only half a lie and he turned to run up the stairs with it, giving Nathalie a pleading expression halfway up. "Please, don't tell Father."

"Adrien…"

" _Please,_ Nathalie. You don't have to lie, just—Pretend you don't know?"

He could see it in her expression. The way two sides of her were clashing. In the end, she sighed.

"He won't hear it from me."

"You're the best! I am just going to leave something upstairs!"

"You can leave it—"

 _Here_ , became lost as he dashed for the top floor, two steps at a time, to burst inside his bedroom, let Plagg out of his pocket and dart back to where he had came.

"You have the room to yourself, don't eat all the cheese, okay?" he threw back and in the general direction of the very confused black kwami flying over his bed.

"Where are you going?!"

The door hadn't finished closing yet and he was already out, running down the stairs, leaving Nathalie behind, his chest twisting painfully as he watched her making her way to father's atelier. Then, turning to stop in front of the dining room door.

This was it.

Taking a deep breath to compose himself, he knocked… and waited.

There was no answer. If anything, he didn't feel brave enough to find out if Nathalie truly had entered the atelier, instead, he knocked again and opened the door, eyes firmly set on the floor, his heart pounding.

 _Be brave._

If he found this room empty it would hardly be the first time. He had spent the last months dining alone almost every single day.

 _Be brave._

He raised his eyes. The dining room was as he expected, clean, spotless and with the table set. All was as in every other night—except for the man waiting inside, leaning against the dinning room table, a pair of dull blue eyes dropping from the portrait over the fireplace to him.

"You are late."

He wouldn't have been able to stop smiling even if he wanted to.

"You waited."

That had been ten minutes ago.

-/-

Meals were usually livelier than this, even if, being completely honest here, not by much. Nathalie's effort to keep him company, which meant she stood at the side of the table, calm and composed—and he suspected, keeping an eye on what he ate, on father's orders—not really doing much for how lonely he was when she only ever talked if he addressed her, which he normally ended up doing… to inquire if his father was coming.

 _He is here now._

And Adrien seemed to have been so anticipating this moment, he had all but forgotten what dining with him was _actually_ like after the questions of "How is school?" and "How is work?" had received twin, brief answers of "Good."

Silent.

Awkward.

Uncomfortable.

It made him miss Plagg and his incessant talking—even if his grinding down of cheese tended to ruin his appetite. It made him miss his friends, the school cafeteria and Marinette either fishing some of her father's cakes from her bag or running out of the table after having forgotten them in her locker— _again_. Above all it made him miss his mother, this room when there were still three of them, and he still knew what to say—when he could still _think_ of something to say.

 _Well, think of something now!_

"You didn't tell me how you got the book back, Father."

The clicking of cutlery ceased the same instant a groan of " _Not that_ " went through Adrien's mind and he looked to the side, the closed expression he was faced with telling he had just plunged into very murky waters.

"The book?"

"Mother's book," Adrien clarified, the hurt immediately flashing through the blue eyes leaving him hanging there, unsure if he had been the cause of it, if he should continue, until he was forced to either drop the subject all together or push forward— "Did one of the teachers find it?" And was hit by a wave of hurt himself. "Did you go to school?"

His father had gone back to stare at the family portrait over the fireplace, his expression so distant Adrien was not expecting him to be listening, much less for him to put aside his pain to quench his own.

"No. It was delivered to me," he said, returning to his food. "At the house."

"One of the teachers came by?" There was something that made little to no sense in that and Adrien was scratching his head. "One of my colleagues?"

"It's of no consequence."

His chin might as well have hit the floor.

"Wait, was it one of my _friends_? Who was it? Chloe?"

If 'eye roll' was anything to go by it surely had not been her, but that didn't mean that she wasn't neck deep into this, so—

"Was it Sabrina?" he pressed on, suspicious. His next question being met with raised eyebrows. "You know, Chloe's friend?"

"She calls her that?"

"She does." A derisive snort left Adrien frowning. "You saw them once."

"I saw them enough."

And, seemingly, Adrien was not getting any more 'eye rolls' to help him with his answer. Not that he cared to know it. But them talking, he cared for that and they hadn't talked—or at least, his father hadn't been listening—since mother had disappeared.

"So, if not Chloe… How about Alya? She runs the Ladyblog." And, of course, father didn't know what that was. "She makes videos about Ladybug. She is a huge fan."

"An increasingly common flaw," his father stated, a slight edge on his voice. "I will try not to hold it against her."

Ah… Was that a _joke?_ For a moment there it had sounded exactly like—

 _He has no sense of humor, remember?_

Which lead to—

"Marinette?" He wanted to laugh for even entertaining the idea. If there was someone who would _never_ take the book from him, it would be her. "She is—"

"The young lady with the ponytails. I remember her."

" _ **You do?!**_ I mean—" He cleaned his throat repeating in a less surprised tone. "You do?"

"Her hat is on my fashion show."

 _Right._ The one with the feather. He shivered just to think how many days of non-stop sneezing he would have to endure for thirty seconds down a runway with it and how easy it would have been to avoid another run-in with that particular allergy. He just had to tell her. Why hadn't he told her? It wasn't as if he hadn't known from the beginning that his father would be attracted to her work like a magnet. In fact—

"It was a very good craftsmanship," Adrien put forth, quietly, playfully, repeating something that had been on his father's lips not that long ago—he snapped his head so fast in his direction there was no way he could unscrew his mischievous grin on time.

"If you are going to tell her I said that, Adrien, make a point to remind her it would be in her best interest to keep her projects under lock and key. It will spare her much trouble in the future." He pressed his lips at his expression. "And try not to ruin your friend with praise."

"I don't think I can."

"You would be surprised," he told him, darkly, only to glance to the side and point at his plate. "That is getting cold."

 _What? Oh!_ The fish, right. He went over several of the roasted potatoes before talking again.

"So…" Adrien raised his fingers as he counted. "Chloe, Sabrina, Alya, Marinette, Nino…" His smile fell as did his spirits, the lifeless eyes going back to him. "Not Nino. You never liked Nino."

"I don't see any reason to like most people these days, Adrien. Don't take it personally. More importantly, are you done going over all your classmates?" he seemed to read the 'No.' straight out of his face. "Will you start to go over the entire school next?" And the 'Yes' as well. "Exactly how many students does your school have?"

"Quite a lot."

Too many judging by his father pressing the bridge of his nose and sighing.

"This person came while you were out, alone, to return the book personally. I admit I wasn't even expecting to get it back, much less that it wasn't just dumped in the mailbox— _It doesn't matter._ This so called friend of yours made, at worse, a silly decision. It wasn't meant maliciously. There is nothing more to it."

There was no way he could keep a very Chat like smile from spreading all over his face.

"You are covering for one of my friends."

"Adrien—"

The slightly aggravated tone was cut short by a grimace. Glasses being laid on the table, he went to press his temples.

"Are you alright, Father?"

"I—yes." A penetrating sideways gaze was thrown his way. "Where were you this morning?"

It came back in a flash. All of it. The sound of crashing and breaking coming from inside the atelier. Nathalie blocking his way inside. His disbelief when finally seeing the almost entirety of it destroyed. And then, what the akuma had made of the familiar face at his side. A black and white fiend, standing in the stairs landing, just like father did, only grinning and gloating, a notebook dancing in one hand.

 _"There is no more Gabriel Agreste."_

There had been malice to that declaration, malice and a kind of deep, unburdening joy that had been much harder to hear.

 _"There is only the Collector."_

His fingers grasped at the jeans, eyes still on the blue ones.

"Do you remember anything?"

"I remember you were _not_ in your room," was his reply, blue eyes hardening.

He was not getting away from this. Not when his answer had not been what father had wanted to hear and he looked suspicious… or maybe that was just his guilt over getting inside his safe, the certainty in glimpsing its now empty interior that he had broken a trust that had been implicit between the two of them and that he was not sure he would ever be getting back.

"I—I heard the commotion downstairs and did what you told me—" Adrien ended up saying, eyes dropping to his lap. It felt wrong to lie about this. "I hid."

There was a sigh. Risking a glance, Adrien was still in time to see his father raise his attention to the portrait.

"You are exactly like your mother," he said, looking—almost smilling at her, even if still massaging his temples. "Acting like it is the end of the world when—"

The tirade came to a halt, fond exasperation fading into silence alongside the first of the choked words. He was pressing his eyes now, seemingly having forgotten his son's presence until Adrien closed one hand over his shoulder and he was forced to return to his side.

"You did well."

A knock made both of them jump, then turn to the opening door in time to see Nathalie step inside.

"My apologies."

Letting go of his father's shoulder, Adrien returned to his suddenly tasteless food. He knew Nathalie well enough to know that apology had been mostly meant for him.

"M. Agreste. The manager of Madame Selene is on the phone. About the—"

"Blue chiffon dress," his father finished before Nathalie had a chance to. "I assume her client is in the middle of yet another temper tantrum," he continued, ruthless, putting the glasses back on. "What is the problem now? The seams? The _length_?"

"It is better if you take the call yourself."

Sadness washed over Adrien's expression, the chair at his side being dragged leaving him to watch his father as he walked to Nathalie, received the phone from her hand—

"A word of advice, Sir. Don't put it close to your ear."

—and went to stand by the window, Nathalie's warning heeded.

"This is Gabriel Agreste."

Adrien could hear it from _here_. This—he didn't even know what to call it—coming from the other side of the line, leaving him to look at the half finished meal on his father's plate and then at Nathalie. Their eyes met for the tiniest of instants, still it was enough for her brow to furrow as she again took to follow his father's back, watching him as he paced back and forth, speaking in that unwavering courteous tone he reserved for his clients.

"My creations don't malfunction. If it hugs the figure much more, your client won't be able to breathe," he was saying, sighing and pressing the bridge of his nose. "The award ceremony is in full swing, I am no miracle worker—I _know_ what my contracts state. Yes, I have read them, I believe I even wrote them."

A gentle smile rose to Nathalie's lips at those words, only to disappear under her distant, professional expression the instant his father's present round of pacing lead him straight back to her, the still screeching phone in his hand forcing the two of them into a silent exchange of words that ended with her giving him a firm headshake. One that Adrien, suddenly at the edge of his seat, couldn't help but notice.

Had she?

"It's final."

Had _he?_

 _Please…_

"Red," The phone was returned to Nathalie. "She wants it red."

"I have been informed."

"She could have thought of that before—"

He stopped. Abruptly. A strange, pensive expression going over his face. It took a moment before he took a forceful breath and continued.

"There is some kind of tear in the fabric that is compromising the _corsage_ functionality. I'm rather sure she put it there, even so I will not be making the headlines by having it falling apart in the middle of a gala."

"Should I send someone from headquarters?"

"No. Get the driver, I—"

There was a moment, no more than a _second_ , where Nathalie was caught completely unprepared. For Father it was enough. His eyes hawked over her unusually open expression and jumped straight back to him.

"Adrien. Where is the driver?"

 _Oh boy…_

"I'm sorry, Father! We were coming back from the photo shoot, got caught on the traffic and there was the dinner, I—"

There was _no way_ he would go further than that or that he could be more grateful to Nathalie when she spared him the need to.

"Is leaving the house _necessary_?"

"Someone has to explain to Selene that I can make that dress red as much as a chef can undo a steak," he stated, only to add in a lower voice: "Or she can make up her mind for more than two seconds."

"Can't that message be delivered through _phone_?"

"I can hardly deprive her from the pleasure of being strangled by her dress."

No… he couldn't, could he?

"Adrien, after you finish your meal, you will go to your room. I expect you to stay there. No nighttime excursions through Paris. I have told you more than once of how dangerous that is."

"Yes, Father."

"And we will talk about this new propensity of yours to ditch both your ride and your bodyguard." He returned to Nathalie. "Get the car, wait outside, I shall not be long."

He was leaving. This was it. The dinner was over and in a stroke of desperation he was up, he wanted to say something, to run after him, to stop him—what he ended up doing, however, was nothing of the sort.

"Thank you for your time, Father."

He hesitated. Adrien wanted to believe he did. Then he walked out, Nathalie in tow, the door clicking behind the two of them leaving Adrien behind in the silent dining room, the portrait of his parents as they stood, forever frozen in a better time, smiling down at him.

Sometimes—Most of the time, he felt he had lost them both.

 **Gabriel**

"Father!"

The calling was still clear in his memory, what at some point had become his name being spoken in a child's excited voice before the sound of struggling with the atelier door gave away to a smiling boy, stopping at the entrance, hesitating—

"Are you working?"

—and a woman, beautiful and radiant in white, bearing a smile that was nothing short of mischievous.

"Are you wearing your mean face?"

Gabriel probably had been. Thirty seconds earlier. He doubted he was now that she was making her way inside, encouraging their son to run to him—around the old wooden table, like he was the one the furniture had to fear—and kneeling behind both of them, peeking from over their shoulders as Adrien went to sit on his lap, scanning the drawing Gabriel had just set aside, before presenting him with one of his own… of what clearly were meant to be the three of them.

"Do you like it?"

"I—" Had he ever given the impression that he didn't? "Yes."

That seemed to embolden Adrien enough, he was beaming, pointing at the first person on the row.

"This is mother."

"A remarkable resemblance."

That gained him a smack on the back of the head.

"That was sincere."´

As was Gabriel straining his mind to figure out what family gathering the drawing intended to show.

"Was this last weekend?"

There was a moment of silence where Adrien giggled, excited enough to jump on his leg, and Emilie stared at him, wide-eyed and disbelieving, dropping her head in defeat.

"How did you know?"

"Your dress."

"How can you remember what I wore last weekend?" she sighed, incredulous, getting to her feet and going around the table. "I can't recall what I had on yesterday. Don't you two start!"

Gabriel smiled, laying his head on the top of his son's, pointing his attention back to the drawing.

"And the other two?"

"This is me. And this is you."

Adrien looked back at that and then to the drawing, giving it what was clearly a critical look, expression falling. From his vantage point, Gabriel couldn't see what the problem could possibly be.

"It looks like me."

"Give it here."

The paper slid all the way across the table to where Emilie stood, ready to catch it and nod at it.

"Oh, I see the trouble."

Adrien's face fell further.

"You do?"

"But, I—" she announced in dramatic fashion and to the delight of the child present. "Can also fix it."

"Emilie… What are you doing?"

"You have to match the drawing, dear."

In what _way_ did that mean she had to drop her shoes?

"Adrien, grab him!"

He did. Tossing his arms around Gabriel's neck only to break down laughing at his mother coming not around the table but sliding over it, not giving any of them time to get out of the way before she was on them, sinking her fingers into their hairs and ruffling around until somehow Adrien managed to slip from her grasp and make a break for the door.

"Where are you going? I am not finished!"

Emilie was up, preparing to hunt down her slippery progeny down the house, only to stop and turn to Gabriel at the last moment.

"Gabriel—You are not locking yourself in here the entire day, are you?" she queried, smiling, the sound of Adrien's footsteps on the atrium, making their way back to hide by the door echoing behind her words. "He misses you."

"Does he?"

She stretched a hand to him.

"Will you come?"

A muffled giggle made both of them turn their attention towards the door.

"I saw you there, _peek-a-boo_!"

Emilie looked back at him… and then was off, walking passed the door where she disappeared—where they both did. Alongside everything else. There was nothing left of that day, of them, except for the drawing.

And why had Gabriel even brought _this_ with him? He didn't remember putting it anywhere near the sewing machine, much less the bag. Breaking it, yes. Alongside every single thing that had been inside his atelier—everything he had been sure would be fixed the moment the Bug lucky-charmed all woes away… but that wasn't to be. The frame was still very much broken. The glass had fallen apart. A tear ripped the paper right where Gabriel and Adrien's hands connected, cutting him from the pair at his side.

The part of Gabriel that hadn't been mindlessly trying to fix that ever since the frame had followed the sewing machine out of the bag, couldn't restrain from a derisive snort.

 _Fitting._

It was _fitting_. A reminder of everything that had gone wrong and kept going wrong. Of all he was taking far too much time to fix!

Gabriel's fist slammed against the rickety table he was working at, sending the box at his side crashing to the dust covered floor, the carefully organized thread reels that had been inside rolling away in every direction as he buried his face in one hand and a mauve kwami descended from the spider web infested rafters, stopping over Gabriel's shoulder to gaze at Adrien's drawing and then at him. Then, and only then, did Nooroo land on the black and gold sewing machine, quiet words doing little more than darken Gabriel's mood further.

"How old is he?"

Gabriel reached out for the drawing, slamming it face down on the table, the sheer amount of anger on the gesture making Nooroo lower his eyes.

"I understand how important this is, Master—"

"I don't require your _understanding_ of anything."

"—but this will be the fifth attempt today," Nooroo pushed forth, quietly, respectfully—fearfully, the note of something akin to worry on his voice making Gabriel's anger boil. "This is not safe. If—If you keep overstraining your powers the akumas will become unstable, they will turn on you—"

"And wouldn't you love that, Nooroo?"

The kwami raised his eyes. For a moment, scared as he was, he held his gaze.

"No," he said, voice tremulous. "You are my holder. I have a duty to protect you."

This— _This was laughable_.

"Truly? And what part of that duty gave you permission to start questioning me?"

"I—I wasn't—"

A sharp knock made the kwami dive behind the sewing machine, peeking from under its adorned arm as the door opened. His lack of alarm was telling enough as to who had made its way inside.

"Close the door."

Gabriel needed not have spoken. It clicked back in place, the sound of something being dragged making him glance over his shoulder to find Nathalie blocking the door with a chair, then looking around at the butterflies and the broken furniture inside the storeroom, looking none too sure.

"Couldn't this be done—?"

"I won't risk a new attack on the house while Adrien is there," Gabriel replied, curtly, fingers pulling on the hand wheel, making it spin. "This should be safe enough."

"Not if I remember this morning correctly."

The clicking of low heels joined the sound of the sewing machine, the pricking of the needle as it reinforced the hand-sewed tear leaving Nooroo gazing at the process in such wide-eyed fascination he had to be swapped under the table when Nathalie appeared at Gabriel's side. Still she looked around. A nervous twitch he hadn't seen her fall back to since that utter failure with Simon Says had allowed a mob to reenact the Storming of the Bastille on the house, making her tug the fingers on her right hand.

For all his present frustration, he would be lying if he said this, on top of Adrien's concerned glances, didn't worry him.

"What did I do?"

"I can hardly know," she said, leaning to pick the box and thread reels lying near his feet. "I was in front of the first door you kicked down."

"My apologies."

Blue eyes glanced up.

"You could have told me."

"I needed to make it convincing."

"It was convincing." The sharp edge to her words was something she clearly hadn't wished to be there for it was gone when she continued. "What if you had succeeded in that form?"

"The Collector would have known to use those two Miraculous to turn back." Bitterness crept into his voice. "He should have enough left of me for that."

Getting back to her feet, the hand with which she had been holding one of the blue thread reels against the flickering ceiling light dropping to her side, Nathalie pressed the box to her chest, the rhythmic sound of the sewing machine filling the space, before she talked again.

"Did he see you?" she queried. "Adrien."

"He says he hid."

"You don't believe him?"

The piercing question made the vein of betrayal, the very same one he had used to create the Collector, pulse inside him. Fingers stopping the hand wheel, a dark note going back to his voice, he got up.

" _Yesterday,_ I would have."

The dress was set on a hook by the door, flowing down to the ground like it was made of water. Watching Nathalie as she frowned at it, her eyes flying over the stitched tear and then focusing on one of the white butterflies as it came to rest on her sleeve, he turned his back on all three of them, satisfied. It was not obvious, then. All the better. He had not come here for this.

"Nooroo."

The white butterflies closed around him, answering his calling before he even finished speaking, before the always reluctant kwami remembered to fly from behind the sewing machine and they blasted off, spreading out, taking flight amidst the broken and dusty furniture around him.

A grin going over his face as the butterfly inside the cane's top spread its black wings, Gabriel raised it to the light, watching it phase out of the small dome and fly towards the window, towards the dark alley outside and down the fire escape, then back inside the theatre—

It should not get lost this one. Not with the feast he could sense a few floors below. Not if Nathalie's phone ring giving way to a loud— _what was the word?_ —the instant she took the call was anything to go by.

This should be enough. Selene should make for a capable enough weapon. There was no reason this should fail.

His attention fell on the table, the drawing still lying face down calling him to it and the two vibrant crayon figures standing to his side—the cane sank to the floor with such strength that the slab underneath cracked.

"What would you call that, Nathalie?" he queried, the bite to his tone seemingly having gone unnoticed for Nathalie's serious expression turned pensive.

"Madame Selene's demands?" She looked at the phone, competent as ever. "Wailing?"

An unpleasant smile spread over his face. And the instant the now familiar electricity bolt went through his head, the emotional turmoil on the other side of the phone blasting into his mind without mercy, he had his name.

"Wailer."

Nathalie almost dropped the now ominously silent phone, glancing his way before opening a path through the butterflies to take cover on the opposite end of the room, fingers so firmly pressed over her ears, he doubted she could hear any of the rest.

"My name is Hawkmoth. I can grant you the power to bind everyone to your whims. I ask you only for a favor in return: Ladybug and Chat Noir's Miraculous. Bring them to me and no one will be able to tell you no ever again."

 **Adrien**

His head was ringing from all the shrieking, the so-called Wailer's continuous demands still echoing inside his mind making Adrien pull at his left earlobe as he tight-roped across the building's parapet, unconcerned over the long drop under him or the ominous beeping coming from the ring, eyes set firmly on the previously mind-controlled crowd and press reentering the theatre below, searching for a speck of pale blond hair, a white suit, a known face…

 _Where are you Father?_

"Keeping an eye out for someone?"

A voice— _her_ voice—returned him to the roof where he was standing. Smilling, making one of the ends of the staff touch the tiles and enlarging it so that he could flip over and land a kiss on the hand of the girl standing at its very top, Adrien looked up at her, the expression of fond exasperation Ladybug gave him only making his teasing grin grow.

"I only have eyes for you, Milady."

"You are impossible."

"You wouldn't want me without all this irresistible charm."

That might not work for anything else but it did just well in making her laugh—and he would take that, as small a victory as it was, more so when remembering the unconquerable battle he was fighting—and, he feared, losing—at home.

"Found who you were looking for, kitty?" Ladybug queried, pointing at the crowd, his concern seemingly becoming obvious enough for her to aim an extremely clumsy punch at his arm. It reminded him of someone this, even if could not put his finger on whom. Whoever it was, however, raised a smile to his face about as much as she did. "Come on. We defeated Wailer. Stopped Hawkmoth. Everyone is fine."

Both Miraculous gave out a new ominous beep and she ran to the edge of the roof, preparing to disappear into the night.

"And we should both get going before— ** _Chat!_** "

He still had time to turn. To glimpse the tall figure standing behind him, before a cane came crashing down on him and he lost his footing, slipping on the moss covered tiles, falling and rolling down the roof, ending up hanging by one hand on the edge.

"Up! Get back up!"

She was over him. Kneeling, stretching a hand to grab his as he swung to get to her and then pulling him back to the rooftop, the urgency in her gesture barely allowing him to understand what was happening before she got hold of him and tossed the yo-yo to the other side of the street, pulling them both off the roof, sending them flying over the busy street and away from—

"Is that _him_?" Adrien asked, looking back over his shoulder, flabbergasted, truly not needing Ladybug to answer when an illustration on an ancient book flashed into his mind and did it for her. "What is he doing out in the open?!"

"Ten to one the same thing he always does!"

"I didn't mean it like that. I meant— ** _Ladybug!"_**

The cable snapped, whatever it was that had been sent flying their way sending them crashing into the traffic below, the sound of breaks squealing and metal breaking echoing around them as they hit the floor, getting up amidst a mass of crashing cars—

"Is anyone—?!"

He grabbed Ladybug's hand, pulling her behind him before she had a chance to disappear from his side. The figure dropping from the top of the building where they had been standing mere seconds ago, landing on the sidewalk between a mass of rapidly fleeing passer-bys, making Adrien extend his staff, just as the man marched to his fallen weapon, put a foot under it and kicked it back to his hand.

Hawkmoth. This was him alright. Even if those dark purple garments he had first glimpsed on father's book seemed to have changed about as much as whoever it was that hid underneath. There was nothing of the bearded, muscular, stern looking man the book showed on the approaching—and _grinning_ —Hawkmoth. Also, _that_ wasn't a cane he was carrying. It never had been, judging by the empty sheath the man already had on his left hand. That was a rapier and _why_ —

"Why does _he_ get a rapier?" Adrien queried, slightly annoyed and glancing back. Not that Ladybug would know the answer. "I could handle a rapier."

"Is _that_ what you are worried about?"

Both Miraculous beeped, another part of the paw on the ring going dark calling his attention to the insanely huge crowd that was gathering on both sides of the street or getting out of the bumped cars, to the mass of phones raised to capture what was happening, to Hawkmoth as he approached, and back to Ladybug's blueberry eyes.

"Maybe at another place, Milady?"

He lodged the staff on the ground, propelling them up, away from the crowded street and the cars, back towards the roofs. It won them no more than a pair of seconds. Their frantic run on the roofs, trying to get away from the cameras and the older Miraculous holder before the countdown hit zero, ending with a small white butterfly flying in front of them—and its master casually strolling from behind the chimneys, a grin distorting what little of his face could be seen.

"How—?!"

They hit the floor, the sheath cutting the air high over them as they tumbled down opposite sides of the roof. Getting hold of himself halfway down, Adrien sent the staff bursting towards Hawkmoth, seeing him dance away from the blow and then try to raise the rapier to block a tile being tossed at his head from the place Ladybug had disappeared to.

It wasn't perfect but nearly so.

For all it mattered, it gave them much needed time to escape when Hawkmoth's unbalance to avoid the staff made him unable to keep his footing to defend himself from the tile. He slipped. Hitting the roof. Starting to go down it, only to grab the nearest chimney and pull himself back to his feet.

Looking over his shoulder, Adrien ended up clenching his teeth. He knew that expression. The one Hawkmoth had just given them as he got back to pursuing them. The mistake he had just made? He wouldn't be making it twice.

"We have to think of something!" he shouted at Ladybug, as they both fled the scene. "We won't be losing him! He is going to find out who we are!"

 _I'm going to find out who you are_ , the tiny, hopeful voice that was always on the back of Adrien's mind chirped in—for once to be cast aside. This _really_ wasn't the time!

"What do we do?"

"You are not going to like it."

"You are the brains, Milady."

It seemed to throw a wrench into her thoughts that, the steely expression in her eyes softening.

"You also come up with good plans."

"Well—" Adrien shrugged, squeezing the space between his thumb and index fingers until there was barely any air between them. "A tiny amount."

She was going to fight him on this. Cute. But not really helpful given the sheath very nearly missing her feet, forcing her to flip over a chimney, turn and pull him so both could take cover behind it.

"So, what's the plan?"

"One of us has to de-transform and come back."

 _Oh good._ Who might have guessed, he really didn't like it.

"You go first."

"I have more time than you."

"You are _unarmed._ "

"I can hold him. Go!"

He didn't like this. He didn't have to like this! And yet, the beeping coming from the ring was getting more and more urgent. He had seconds. And clenching his teeth, Hawkmoth's shadow being drawn against the tiles by the pale moonlight, he propelled himself the farthest he could from the roof, a strained—

"Be careful."

—left in his wake.

It was in the nick of time. The second he hit the floor he was back to himself, pressing his back against the alley's wall, an exhausted looking Plagg hanging from his shoulder, attention overhead, on the clash between Ladybug and Hawkmoth and what "I can hold him" had truly meant. She was dodging. She seemed able to do little else but dodge!

"This is bad. This is so so bad," Plagg muttered, as she jumped and pirouetted between two chimneys. "You have the cheese?"

Rummaging through his pockets, a moment of panic rushing through his mind when he failed to find anything at first, Adrien ended up pulling a carefully draped napkin from his shirt pocket and extended it to a now very disappointed kwami.

"So little."

It would be way more if Plagg's appetite for cheese wasn't taking ever growing and concerning proportions, but this truly wasn't the time to argue about _that_.

"I will give you all the cheese in the world if you get us out of this, Plagg."

Apparently it was the time to make it worse!

"Starting with the stinky ones."

If ever any piece of camembert had been swallowed so fast—In a moment, he was jumping back up, getting back in the fray just in time for Ladybug's Miraculous to give one last ominous warning and for her to drop from the roof, disappearing into the streets below, her transformation already fading off.

Moving to follow her, only to find his path blocked by Adrien, Hawkmoth twirled his sword, tossed it and made it sink into the brickwork covering the chimney a good meter or so to Adrien's left. Casually leaning against it, he couldn't hold back the jest.

"Miss me?"

Judging by the way Hawkmoth's lips twisted, he hadn't, and he was still going for Ladybug, clearly aiming to follow her, barely glancing at him.

 _He is not here for the Miraculous,_ he suddenly understood. Or at least, he wasn't here just for them. This was about their identities.

 _You are **so** not following me home._

The Collector had been _enough_ and that had been father. He was not putting him and Nathalie in danger again and no way was he allowing Hawkmoth to follow Ladybug down.

His hands closed firmly around the staff.

 _You are staying right—_

 _Wait…_ Was he not forgetting something? Oh, right… The rapier!

If only the thing would come out of the wall! But no! He was diving and rolling out of harm's way the next instant, seeing Hawkmoth rip the sword out of the brickwork like it was nothing to write home about and moving to engage.

If there was one thing those mixed-style events his fencing school took part on had taught him was that he should have this fight controlled. He had been on a match very similar to this one, only on the _other_ _side_ and been taught that quite clearly. He should be at an advantage with the staff. He _should_ , but Hawkmoth or his kwami or both clearly knew what they were doing. There was no defensive card being played here. They were on the attack about as much as him and Plagg were and always, _always_ out of reach.

 _He is good._

Kind of rusty if some of those attack-parry transitions he was doing with the sheath were anything to go by… it kind of felt like he hadn't touched a sword or practiced in years—

 _So this is Hawkmoth, not the kwami._

—but at one point he must have been a force to be reckoned with.

 _And the last thing I need is for him to get back in peak form,_ Adrien groaned internally.

Even if, being completely honest here, having to keep himself firmly rooted on spot, back towards where Ladybug had disappeared towards, was not working much—or anything at all—in his favor. Had he taken this long to return? Was she alright? Was her kwami—?

 _Focus!_

He reminded himself of that a little too late. His next strike came too high, too predictable—and Hawkmoth had slithered inside his defenses the same instant, sheath raised—

 **_CRACK!_ **

That was—

He tried to run. They both tried to run. The wood groaning and snapping under them seeing them trying to flee the site only for the roof to collapse under them, taking them down not one, not two but three floors before they managed to jump for safety and it crashed all the way to the basement.

 _That was close!_

Also _close_ was Hawkmoth as he rose over the broken tiles to his left, rapier and sheath seeming to have followed the roof all the way down. And Adrien was not staying here to see him getting them back. He was out and back to the—a hand closed over his ankle just as he jumped, slamming him back into the very dingy, very rundown, completely derelict appartment both him and Hawkmoth had fallen into.

 _Well, great!_

This would not be written down as one of Chat Noir's greatest moments! No instant in which he was on the ground, forced to retreat from an enemy, his staff now on the other side of the room, had ended on anything—!

There was a creak above. Like someone had landed on top of the building. Attention snapping away from Adrien, Hawkmoth retreated, fleeing through the broken floor, disappearing just as a red bolt landed inside.

"Where is he?"

Adrien was on his feet, running to pick up the staff, grabbing Ladybug by the hand and pulling them inside the nearest thing that looked remotely like a different room.

"You made him flee, but he is coming back!"

The door slammed behind them, both of them pulling an empty bookshelf in front of it, blocking it and then sprinting in the opposite direction. If there was one thing he would be eternally grateful for was not being on this hero-thing alone.

"Are you alright?" Ladybug threw at him, looking around, attention going over the long, door filled corridor with its sealed windows and whinning floor and for some reason giving all of that a pleased smile. "This should do."

"I have no idea what that means, but I am always better for your presence, _peek-a-boo_."

"Not really the time, _Chat_."

"Agree to disagree." He glanced at what she had over her shoulder, the sheer randomness of it telling him that had come right out of her Lucky Charm. "Is that a butterfly trap?"

This truly wasn't the time for jokes, but—

"I don't think he fits inside."

There was this long suffering glance from Ladybug and she was back on her game, making them turn a corner and pointing at the stair now on their sight.

"Use the staff. We have to put this on that hole on the roof."

"At your command, Milady," he said, lodging one of the ends on the wall and holding her by the waist as they started to go up. If only he had known about this before—

 **_SNAP!_ **

The staff wobbled under them, sending them smashing into the stairs and then rolling down them, the pair of purple shoes appearing at their side making Adrien jump to get Ladybug out of the way just as clarity flashed through Hawkmoth's eyes on sight of the net and he stroke at it, cutting it in half.

"He understood what it was for?!" Adrien snapped, Ladybug pulling at his hand forcing him back to his feet. _Why am I the only one who never does?!_

They were fleeing again. Running through the derelict corridors. Ladybug muttering something that sounded a lot like "intelligent but cold" as she kept tabs behind them, making the same wave of defensive anger he had felt in the morning rise to champion the person that accusation had been previously aimed at.

"You still think that is Gabriel Agreste?!"

"No!" She sounded aggravated, which meant he wasn't the only one feeling defensive right now. "You know it made sense! He fits!"

"You think he fits with _that?_ "

"He has the brains for it!"

"That doesn't mean he would do this!"

"Look, I already said I was wrong!" She gave him a confused glance. "Why are you still angry?"

"I'm not angry." He was _not_. "I just—"

 _Know him,_ became lost in the sound of the door they had just closed being kicked down. It wasn't the right thing to say come to think of it. He didn't _know_ him. He didn't think he had known his father before mother disappeared and certainly didn't after he cut himself from him for months, but–

 _I used to run to him when I was scared._

Nightmares, thunderstorms… All things embarrassing beyond belief to remember and yet, despite _everything,_ it didn't change a thing.

 _He is still Father._

This Hawkmoth—Adrien was moving in front of Ladybug as he watched him entering the room—didn't feel like it was him at all.

"What do we do?" he asked over his shoulder, the heavier end of the yo-yo, swirling in a carefully controlled circle at her side, making him hold steadier to the staff. If anything her weapon made for an even worse defense than the staff in such a small and confined space. "We can't run away. We can't risk him tracking us home."

"Keep him occupied, I will think of something."

The window shattered behind her, her jumping outside leaving Hawkmoth and him alone, facing each other. Or, at least, he was facing Hawkmoth. The man himself had kept his attention on Ladybug, the intense blue eyes following her as she dissappeared and then flying over Adrien, cold and uninterested, like he wasn't even there. Then, he was turning his back on him. Sheating the rappier. Putting the cane over his shoulders. Marching for the door.

Adrien had to sigh– _This again._ Then twirled the staff, sending it rushing forth, making it slam against the door, an easy gesture closing it shut.

"How about no?"

Gloved fingers tapped on the top of the cane, then sent it crashing to the floor as Hawkmoth turned, grinning in such a malicious way Adrien actually felt a shiver going down his spine.

He wouldn't know who took the first step into what followed, only that they were weapons locked and back on the stairs when he managed to somehow break into Hawkmoth's defenses and saw him twist the cane over his head to stop the blow, the familiarity of the gesture, the hours he had spent doing it or watching others do it, leaving him staring for a moment.

 _Wait—_

"You know fencing?"

He ran up the stairs before the cane could be used against him, enlarging the staff so that it hit the walls on both sides of the corridor he was now at and jumping to stand on it, the stab coming at him and forcing him to back flip to the floor, cleaning his mind of all doubts.

"You _know_ fencing."

And he was _not_ excited about this. _Not at all._ He really _really_ wasn't _—_ Okay, so maybe he was just a little bit. But only because that meant he had a foot to stand on here. He knew what to expect. Even if he was losing terrain like crazy, mostly fleeing up a new flight of stairs and really not seeing a way to stop Hawkmoth from getting to the upper floor any time _—_

 _Soon?_

One of the gloved hands had just closed over the handrail, the way it seemed to be holding the entire of Hawkmoth's weight making something harsher take over Adrien's mind. He looked tired. Judging by his breathing he _was_ tiring. That was _strange,_ but sent him flying at him anyway. The next moment they were falling down the stairs, rolling, fighting, both trying to reach the cane Hawkmoth had dropped and _—_

 _Oh boy… Time to run!_

He wouldn't have to. The very same moment, a speck of red came flying from up above, crashing into Hawkmoth's wrist. The cane he had just picked was sent flying from his hand, falling to the ground, spinning.

"Perfect timing, Milady!"

He was back into the fight the same moment, being intercepted by the man's left arm and sent to the floor just like he knew he would _—_ a grin covering his face as he set his eyes on Hawkmoth's now unprotected Butterfly Miraculous.

This was it. Their chance. They could put an end to this now. Ladybug just had to—

 _Ladybug?_

She hadn't moved _—_ or she had only too late and just in time to come to his aid. The yo-yo cable wrapped around his ankle, pulling him away from Hawkmoth as he reached back for his cane and kicked it back up, grabbing it with his left hand.

The moment had passed. Hawkmoth might not be winning this, but neither would they and, rolling and sinking his fingers into the whining wood, Adrien didn't like the smile Hawkmoth had plastered on his face when Ladybug finally moved to join the fight. He didn't like that smile at all!

"Don't!"

She reacted in the nick of time, tossing the yo-yo backwards, outside, her rapid flight meaning she all but destroyed the net she had tried to cover the broken roof with before landing on top of one of the chimneys. Putting some safe distance between him and their enemy, Adrien remained on the lower floor. Hawkmoth standing in front of him, right arm immobile at his side, blue eyes for the first time actually looking at him, studying him, pondering.

"Time is up, Hawkmoth," Ladybug announced from over them, making the man look up at her. "Give back the Miraculous you stole!"

There was this shadow of surprise on the silver covered face, then mirth, then _laughter_ , cold and loud and exploding on the small attic, a first speck of white flying passed his shoulder leading Adrien to look behind, towards one of the wood-sealed windows on the floor.

 _What?_

"Stole?" Hawkmoth repeated and his laughter turned louder still, the white specks flying to him, hitting the dark purple suit, beginning to cover it as if in light.

"Ah, Ladybug?"

There was _no way_ she wasn't seeing _this_. There were more. Dozens more. Hundreds— _thousands!—_ of white specks moving at a quick pace, entering through the windows, through the roof, hitting the walls and the ceiling, making Adrien dive to the floor, a strike of fear making him lie over the ring as whatever this was filled the house, blinding him, the laughter the only thing that could be heard over the sound of flapping—before silence set in.

The swirling, blinding mass around him was breaking apart. Departing from where it had come. Serenity took over the derelict house as he returned to his feet, looking over the empty room, finally seeing the white specks for what they were.

"Butterflies?"

But more importantly—

He looked up in a sudden panic, to where Ladybug had been, to where _—_ to his relief _—_ she still was with hands set protectively over her ears, eyes opening to look at what was around her.

It would come to him later, this.

Her rising among the white butterflies. The way they had covered her hair and clothes. For a moment, she didn't seem real, more like something out of a dream. It was beautiful and a part of him would come to regret how quickly his concern had made him break the spell.

"Are you alright?" he asked, jumping up, one hand closing over her shoulder, concerned eyes on hers. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

She blinked, the butterfly she had been staring at taking flight from her fingers, joining the hundreds of its companions as they flew away, breaking apart, disappearing into the night sky, leaving them alone in the rooftops, the awe with which Ladybug had been staring at them turning into something akin to anger. One that was entirely directed at herself.

"He has to be somewhere," she told him, aiming the yo-yo to the other side of the street and jumping off the roof before he had time to stop her. "Split up!"

 **Gabriel**

Beige shoes hit the theatre roof a short distance away, the light enveloping the tall figure still allowing for a glimpse of a dark purple suit before it washed over altogether and the man underneath turned for a short while, gazing at the rooftops and the two figures in the distance, the distressed expression of the small butterfly-shapped kwami at his side a sharp contrast to the blue eyes intense gleam—and their darkness once that light died out.

"Move."

The fire escape whined as Gabriel started to go down it, a blade of light appearing on the alley under his feet, the voices rising from the now open door, making him press his back against the wall as he looked down through the laced metal, holding his right wrist.

The pain was bearable. A distraction if nothing else—or so he had hoped. At least, until Nooroo came zooming after him. Until the damn thing took upon itself to open its mouth.

"Master, I beg you to listen to me," Nooroo whispered, the door closing under them sparing him an irate glare as he moved to follow Gabriel. "Kwamis were created as a whole; we are not supposed to fight each other! You can't—You can't keep going down this path!"

If the thing was wise it would shut up and leave it at that, instead—

"Miraculous are meant to be used for good!"

"And what might that be?" Gabriel snapped, attention on the carefully closed window in the platform below. "Should I help old ladies cross the street? Keep an eye out for the fire brigade? Or has that vacancy already been acquired by that Owl-person?" His lips twisted with disdain. One would think there were limits to how ridiculous some people could get—but no. "What is this higher purpose kwamis aspire to?"

"To protect people."

Gabriel came to a stop, the ghost of a smile, of a touch, of his name being whispered by his ear making him grasp the metal handrail.

"Such pretty lies, Nooroo."

"Lies? I—I don't understand."

"You wouldn't, would you? But continue. I will indulge you just this once. What is this that you intend to help me protect?"

There was a hesitation, something of dread as Nooroo found himself caught in his gaze, and then hope, a sudden inspiration.

"Your son."

"Then you failed me already."

There was a disturbance. The sound of whining wood and shutters being opened giving Nooroo a chance to dive for cover inside his jacket just as a voice, a woman's voice, put an end to words he regretted already.

"Sir."

Nathalie. And he was back where he had started, inside the dusty storeroom, attention going over the blue dress hanging from the hook in the corner of the room, the already packed sewing machine, the broken furniture—his assistant now holding her phone to him.

"Would you prefer to call or should I?"

"Call?"

"Adrien," she clarified. "He is bound to have seen the news."

"It's passed midnight. He is asleep."

"He is fifteen."

"Fifteen and with classes in the morning," he retorted, stepping away from her while taking the carefully folded silk scarf from one of the jacket's pockets. It was red and the only trace of color he had allowed himself on his otherwise very discreet and utterly boring beige suit. "I expect some discernment on his part considering how he insisted in going to this school—"

A sting of pain turned the last word into a hiss, the scarf falling from his hand and drifting to the floor making Nathalie step forth, taking his hand in hers, fingers moving carefully over his hand, then the wrist. The same instant, she grimaced.

"It feels broken."

"It will be fine in the morning."

The thing hiding inside his jacket was at least good for _that—_ even if so called 'magical solutions' were not, it seemed, good enough for Nathalie.

"It's your drawing hand."

"I know _that_."

"Adrien will worry."

"Adrien doesn't need to know."

"He will _notice_."

"So will the press. Five minutes into a hospital, and I would have the house surrounded by—"

A movement outside, some kind of dot bolting over the roofs to land on top of the theatre, made anger flash through his eyes.

" _Them!_ "

And he had risked too much, sacrificed too much to blow everything up over something as unimportant as—Nathalie squeezed his hand, a metallic groan making her step closer and lower her voice.

"Did they see you come here?" she asked, attention on the closed shutters.

"That's extremely unlikely."

And yet, there was indeed someone coming down the fire escape. The groaning metal told as much. He dropped to pick the silk scarf the same instant Nathalie did, both rising back up, the stabbing pain forcing him to let it flow through his fingers and watch as Nathalie folded it, a stain of red— _the bug_ —appearing just outside, making her brows furrow.

"Adrien told me about this afternoon," she announced in a perfectly clear voice, putting the scarf around his neck, covering the Miraculous, both glancing at the closed shutters. Ladybug seemed to have stopped short of opening them. "About your deal. Concerning school."

Why of all the topics, did she pick—There was an edge to his voice when he answered.

"The one you talked me into."

"The one I talked you into, yes," she acquiesced, staidly. Eyes rising to meet his. "You took school out of the conditions?"

"School was what that deal was about," he retorted, trying to keep his irritation in check. "I might as well have tore the thing up."

"You aren't happy with it."

"I'm not the one meant to be happy."

Nathalie stopped, staring at the scarf, before nudging his chin up in order to tie it.

"He was happy," she said in a tone as gentle as her touch. "Why now?"

"It is good for him to be out of the house. To have friends. Or so you keep telling me."

His eyebrows furrowed, a sideways glance to the window and its closed shutters showed the bug was still there, albeit standing to the side, back against the wall—little more than eavesdropping at this point.

"Also," Gabriel hissed, taking over Nathalie to tuck the scarf inside the waistcoat, all the anger and frustration and anguish at his latest failure, all of the things Nooroo had been unwise enough to disturb, that the bug standing outside did little but drive home, starting to build up, to seep through, to turn into outright fury. "I'm not so _blind_ I can't see the damage this is causing. I cannot trust myself not to take him out of that school for every single misbehavior. So it's _over_. It is bad enough that a _fifteen-year-old_ girl had to come around this time and remind me I am being unfair, to end up doing this again."

Nathalie's expression visibly softened.

"You liked her."

There was this loud crash outside, like the bug had just slipped down the stairs, the spiteful smile immediately taking over Gabriel's expression making Nathalie shake her head and signal outside.

"Should we help her?"

"That would be ironic."

The phone rang, cutting short whatever else Nathalie might have rebutted the nasty remark with. Approaching a broken mirror set to the side, the grimace on her expression still clear to him before she walked out of sight, Gabriel was all but growling—

 _This. Day!_

"What did she want?" he snapped, going over the scarf, the silence behind him telling him Nathalie had disconnected the call. "Has she changed her mind _again_?"

"Madame Selene seems to have just stopped retelling her story to the press."

"How delightful," Gabriel growled. "She will be unmanageable."

He stepped away from the mirror and towards the table, bent on taking the bag carrying the sewing machine only to find it already gone and ending up turning to see Nathalie approaching the door. Dress draped over her arms. Bag in hand. Somehow still managing to hold her phone despite it all. Just a few months ago, the juggling feat would have amused him, now—

"I'm not an _invalid_ , Nathalie."

It hit him the moment he spoke. What he sounded like. Whom he had taken upon himself to vent his frustrations on.

"That was—"

 _Unnecessary._

 _Uncalled for_.

 _Ungrateful_ , his mind finished for him, unforgiving, and he stepped to take the far too heavy sewing machine from her hands, holding the blue gaze.

"I didn't mean that."

The bag changed hands, the door opening allowing them to step outside the storeroom and into the theatre's service corridors, away from the crowds, from the press, from the spotlights, from the laughter and conversations. There had been a time when he had belonged there—but it all seemed foreign now. Little but a fading dream.

A reddish pink dome appeared on the night sky. Its light washing over the city at the very moment they entered a small green room and he took the blue dress from Nathalie's hands, setting it on the back of a chair, his mind rapidly running away from him, leaving him staring blindly outside… at least, until she approached the window, and Gabriel found himself walking to stand beside her, eyes on the black and red figures disappearing into the night.

"Did you discover who they are?" Nathalie queried, watching him as he leaned against the wall.

"No."

But waiting in the soon to be shattered quiet of a makeshift dressing room, a new glance at the city showing an empty sky, he wondered.

He wondered.

 **Adrien**

"Do you think she got home safely?" Adrien queried, pacing in front of the large glass wall of his bedroom, keeping watch over the distant rooftops. "He might have gone after her. Ladybug, I mean. He didn't come after me, so… She could have given me her phone number or e-mail, right? Just to know she is alright!"

"You have the communicator thingy on your staff."

 _Right!_ The communicator. He could turn back into Chat Noir, pick it and—! _It doesn't work unless we are both transformed!_

"I hate this secrecy thing!"

He let himself fall into the sofa with that, pressing the command buttons so fast Nadia Chammok kept going in and out of focus, her words still possible to be stitched out despite his search for his other source of concern.

"If something had happened it would be all over the news, right?" he asked, keeping watch over the changing channels, Plagg flying belly up over him, looking utterly confused.

"Happened to whom?"

Adrien was up, jumping over the back of the sofa and getting mid way to the piano before Plagg could call after him.

"Where are you going?"

"To the hallway, to wait for Father."

"You can wait for him here! You have everything you can possibly want right at this table. Me. _Cheeeeeeese—_ "

The word was crowned by Plagg descending from what could only be assumed to be cheese heaven and appearing in front of his face with such a stinky piece on his hands Adrien was covering his nose the same instant.

"Plagg! Take that away!"

Still wielding his cheese, the kwami sighed.

"No palate for delicacies."

"I'm the one without _palate_?"

"I'm sharing my cheese."

"Please, _please_ , don't share it."

Not so secretly that seemed to be exactly what Plagg wanted to hear, the very same moment—and to Adrien's relief—the cheese was gone.

"I don't get why you are concerned," Plagg went on to say, liking his fingers. "What can your father possibly have said that got us into that mess with Wailer?"

Adrien sighed, leaning over the piano, head leaned against one hand.

"You know Father, Plagg."

Floating in front of him, belly up, Plagg was probably having his memory affected by copious amounts of cheese.

"Remember Nino?" Adrien queried, raising one eyebrow.

Still, Plagg shrugged.

"Your father seems like the inteligent sort to me," he said, picking another piece of cheese from the plate and sniffing it dreamly, before returning to normal-people realm. "He is clever enough to know when to flee for safety, right?"

"Yeah, and proud enough not to. Remember that _illusionist_? The one who completely wrecked the security system?"

"The one that tried to make him throw himself off a roof?" Plagg rephrased, making Adrien shiver at the memory. "He should have learned by now, right?"

"It's _Father_ ," he countered, as if that put an end to all discussions. Which thinking about it, it kind of did. "At least, Nathalie should have said something, right? She always does."

 _Unless something happened to her too._

"They are fine," Plagg said, seeing him running his hands through his hair. "You will see. They will be back before I can eat this giant-sized delicious piece of sweet sweet Roquefort."

Adrien never even got a chance to glimpse said cheese, the minute he turned, Plagg was already mid-way into his triumphant "Ta-Tan!" and spinning to point the room's door—clearly expecting to hear the front door opening on the lower floor.

Worried as he was there was no way Adrien could stop a chuckle from getting through to his lips.

"No one can get to the door that fast, Plagg."

The kwami was unperturbed by the news, picking a larger piece of cheese and hanging it in front of his already opened mouth.

"Before I eat this…"

The brie disappeared faster than the Roquefort and again Plagg turned to the door. Again, nothing happened.

"Well, I have the entire cheese plate to go over." He looked up, trying to sound reassuring. "He will return, you'll see."

Adrien's already tremulous smile wavered further still, nails sinking into his arm, eyes meeting the smiling face on the screen of his still silent phone.

 _Mom didn't._

It was what scared him the most.

 **Gabriel**

"It is mostly everywhere now," Nathalie was saying, her voice cutting through the piano aria on the radio as the car went beneath one of the city's many bridges. "The press is having a field day with it."

There was a moment the words didn't register. The city lights on the other bank of the Seine and the red trails of the cars as they drove by, having lulled his mind into such a comfortable state of emptiness not even Nooroo, nestled as he was on his jacket's collar and peeking at the city, could elicit more than a lackluster annoyance from him.

"The press can have a field day with mostly everything," Gabriel whispered, fatigued, a trace of drowsiness in his voice. "It's of no consequence."

"This is _not_ 'of no consequence.'"

Gabriel glanced at the phone over the car's console, the first tendrils of the present slowly jolting his mind back to work and tossing him straight into a late evening 'scoop' that had been going on for hours.

"What if someone recognizes you?" Nathalie insisted, her serene professional tone breaking through the images of a mass of butterflies blasting through the Parisian streets, the back of the figure the camera had been aimed at disappearing among them. "If they suspect—"

"I'm a fashion designer, Nathalie. There is little that spells 'non-threatening' better than that."

"I beg to differ," she replied, another bridge going by, lights painting the inside of the car yellow. "Madame Selene's dress seemed liable to strangle her after you finished with it."

"Ah, yes. That fits under the Costumer's Prerogative Clause."

Nathalie seemed to choke on something, then she cleaned her throat, still on topic.

"And the red dress? The one you gave her?"

"I gave _Wailer_ a red dress," Gabriel sighed.

"Even so. There are people who knew—"

"Selene is far too self-centered to spare it any mind, that manager of hers is overworked, that leaves—Adrien? I don't think he cares about fashion enough to even notice. As I said it is of no consequence."

Nathalie pressing her lips made him frown. The soft pulsing of the Miraculous next to his chest making him study her closed expression. He didn't need Nooroo for this.

"You are worried."

"I would have preferred you hadn't done that, yes," Nathalie replied, simply, glancing at the rear mirror and the road, then back to him. "Should I refuse any further contracts with Madame Selene?"

"If you value my sanity."

"And the ones already scheduled?"

"Find some work conflict. Cancel them."

Hitting the turn indicator stalk and joining the traffic as it turned to the city, _le Tour Eiffel_ appearing at their front, Nathalie glanced his way, a crease forming between her eyebrows.

"What will you do about the dinner?" she queried. "Adrien—"

"Will understand."

"—had been waiting to spend time with you for weeks."

"Reschedule it. It shall be easy enough without Selene's constant pestering getting in the way of everything."

"There is the fashion show in some weeks."

"Yes. The _fashion show_." He stopped, pensive. "Has Audrey confirmed her presence yet?"

"She has."

"I will need a favor from you."

"Anything."

 _Anything…_

She could have asked what this was about. She _should have_ asked. Instead—

"I believe I may need to change tactics," he found himself confiding in her. "I have been giving little thought to any of this—Not to say hyper-focusing on that bug."

"You said in a worst case scenario it was paramount to get Ladybug's Miraculous first," Nathalie pointed out, _Les Champs de Mars_ going by the window before she made the turn towards the house. "She was the priority."

"Yes… on account of her being able to purify the akumas, not the usefulness of her kwami. I would much rather have that cat's Cataclysm at my disposal if worse come to pass than anything on her arsenal." His wrist choosing that very moment to start pulsing, seemed to mock him for dismissing her like this. "Nevertheless, to remove her interference would facilitate operations—"

"But?"

"I might have been underestimating the cat."

Nathalie's glance at his wrist didn't go unnoticed.

"That was her."

 _And then she froze,_ he finished, disdainfully, the car starting to slow down allowing him to raise the wrist to the light. _Not him, though._

The cat had seen this for what it was. A weakness to be exploited and gone straight for the Miraculous.

"He is not the jabbering idiot he likes to present himself as," he growled under his breath, only to lean his chin against his injured hand, thoughtful. "Also there is this remarkable resemblance—"

"With whom?"

"Adrien."

Nathalie braked so hard the car stalled, climbing up the sidewalk, hiccupping forward, a column appearing dangerously close to its front making them both fall on the handbrake, pulling it and turning on each other.

"You think that is _Adrien_?!"

"I think there is a _resemblance_!"

"You _engaged_ them!"

"A resemblance! Try not to smash the car against the gate over it!"

The house was in front of them now. The illuminated windows sending long traces of warm yellowish light over the courtyard. And it was to them Nathalie turned, eyes going up and down the _château_ façade, distress running freely on her face, nails sinking into the steering wheel.

"No."

The forceful, final note to that word was such that even Nooroo moved to listen, peeking from under Gabriel's chin.

"They aren't alike," she was saying, hitting the ignition button. "Chat Noir is this high-spirited _boy_. Adrien—"

She put the car back in gear, pebbles snapping under its wheels as she maneuvered it into and around the courtyard, her usual distant professionalism setting in again, turning the words into silence, emptying her expression of emotion.

"And Adrien?" Gabriel probed, softly. "What is he like?"

A sad smile rose to his face when Nathalie turned a pair of remarkably distant eyes on him.

"I don't think I know him that well," she said.

The car came to a stop as the large iron gates cut the house from the city, the fresh night air hitting their faces as they stepped into the well lit courtyard and went up the stairs, the hallway lights blinding them for an instant.

"Nathalie, about the dinner—" She already had her hand to the atelier's door handle when he spoke. "I will make it up to—"

The words died, the paleness taking over his face making Nathalie step in his direction and then turn to follow his line of sight, her attention too falling on this figure—His son. On his pajamas—slumbering in the first step of the staircase, head leaning against the railway, phone grasped to his chest. It was all so reminiscent of another time, of the beginning of this never-ending nightmare, that he had moved even before she had a chance to, dropping in front of him, heart sinking in such a way that it might as well have stopped.

"Adrien, what happened?"

He stirred the moment he spoke. The moment their eyes met, he looked like he was about to burst into tears.

"Father!"

Grabbing at the railway as not to lose his balance—which he did anyway the instant Adrien sank into his chest and his injured hand failed to keep both of them anchored on spot—Gabriel sank to his knees, confusion making his attention run all over the atrium in search of he knew-not-what, his instinct reaction to call for Nooroo broken only by Adrien pulling himself off his chest, a surprising ferocity in his eyes.

"There was one of those akumatized people at the Gala!" he pointed out, just short of shouting. "Where were you?! Why wouldn't you say you were fine?!"

The atelier door clicked, Nathalie's quick retreat still giving him time to glance at her back. The truth sounded nothing short of idiocy now.

"I thought you were asleep."

"Why wouldn't you say something _anyway?!_ "

Adrien's voice choked, immediately he buried his face on one hand, the gesture sparing him the sight of Gabriel's fingers stopping mere inches from his shoulder, utterly unable to close the distance. And yet, attention falling on the phone Adrien had dropped, on Emilie as she smiled up at him, he understood this all too well.

"It won't happen again."

"It better."

There were still limits, though.

"Language."

A half snort half sob came from behind the hand covering the green eyes and the phone turned to black on the floor, leaving him with Emilie's absence and their son leaning back into his chest, the same question still being whispered.

"Why didn't you say something?"

Adrien hadn't been crying before—He was now. And putting his arms around him, head going to lie on top of his, Gabriel closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

He truly hadn't thought there was anything of his heart left to break.


	2. Medusa - Part 1

**Chapter 2 - Part 1**

 **Adrien**

It felt like he had just fallen asleep. The alarm clock going off right next to his ear so startling him that Adrien found himself rooted under the sheets, listening to the beeping as it rose in volume and then was finally, if weirdly, turned off.

Confused, his mind so disoriented he couldn't remember where he was—much less why he would need an alarm clock scaring him to death at 7 am—Adrien ended curling up again. So convinced was he that he was home, on the countryside, that he was dozing off in a pair of seconds, slipping away into the warmth and comfort of the bed, his rest disturbed only by this nagging sensation that he was lying in the wrong position for this to be home—and then by something moving at his side. Some kind of animal, he thought—a cat, a not entirely awake part of his mind put in—before the phone's glare hit his face, the sound of a video being put on play reached his ears and he buried his head on the pillow, groaning in protest, one hand reaching out from under the sheets to snag the phone from whoever it was that had it.

"Shouldn't you be getting up or something?" a tiny, slightly croaky voice queried when his hand closed over the phone, the sound of stretching and yawning and _purring_ giving way to a suddenly excited note. "Are we staying in bed? Are we ditching school?"

School—?

" **School!** "

The bed sheets were sent _flying_. Crashing at the foot of the bed. Cascading to the floor. And Adrien was up. Reaching for the glass wall's command. Last night blasting inside his head in such a tidal wave of embarrassment when the metal shutters opened to let the morning light in, that he was left standing next to the bed, taking in all he should have done the day before rather than be on the hallway, pacing and fretting and _bawling_ all over father like he was back to being four!

"Plagg, help me out!"

"Must I?"

He was not hearing. Neither was he glancing towards the bed to see if Plagg was dropping the phone to come to his aid. No. He was _running!_ In and out of the shower. Towel in one hand and toothbrush in the other. Shirt half-way down his neck. Fighting to dry his hair and wash his teeth and dress all in one go—only to remember upon finding his breakfast on the table that he had not _eaten yet_! and jump back inside the bathroom, toss everything into the sink and come back out.

It was probably a funny spectacle this. Him going around with half a baguette between his teeth, running from the desk to the sofa to the piano to the wardrobe, school bag over one shoulder, fencing bag over the other, shoving inside everything that was spread out through the room. Still, at least, Plagg seemed to have taken pity on him and not go around cheering him on while doing absolutely nothing to help. Not that he was doing _something_ , but in the midst of his panic, Plagg's absence truly only became apparent when he failed to enter the bag after everything else was there.

"Plagg?"

Adrien looked around. The room looked the same as always now that he had gathered all his stuff—never mind his bag looking like a tornado had swept in. Still, one would think that finding a black kwami between the white sofa next to the glass wall, the equally white piano in the middle of the room, the sports equipment to the left and the movies on the floor up, wouldn't be that difficult…

And it wasn't.

Plagg was lying on the bed. With his phone. Watching videos. No surprises there. And dropping the fencing bag near the door, Adrien jogged to get him, diving over the ruffled bed sheets on the floor to land on top of the bed, the mattress jumping beneath them sending Plagg a few centimeters up in the air—where he remained afterwards, still holding the phone.

"You know," he said, attention on the display. "I hadn't seen Nooroo in ages."

Adrien's fingers stopped short of grabbing kwami and phone. A glance between the two leaving him sprawled on the bed, lying on his stomach, attention moving from Plagg to the video—one of several thousand, he suspected, that had been captured after him and Ladybug had been sent crashing into the traffic by Hawkmoth and he had joined them on the ground. Grinning. Rapier being kicked into one hand.

It was probably silly that only now, in the safety of his room, in a _video_ , did he notice how much older—how much _taller_ —Hawkmoth was than both Ladybug and him. That he remembered what that butterfly-shaped broche he wore was, other than being just a Miraculous.

"His name is Nooroo?" he said in little but a whisper, a glance towards Plagg leaving guilt to twist his stomach. Why had he never spared a thought to this? "He is your friend?"

Plagg gave him a toothy grin.

"We are all friends!"

"Yeah, right…" Adrien tossed one of the pillows to the foot of the bed, going to sit cross legged and pointing at the screen, straight at Hawkmoth's Miraculous. "If you were me, Nooroo would be Nino or… I don't know, someone from school—Nathaniel?"

Silence was his answer. That and Plagg pulling the video all the way back and staring sadly into the screen.

 _Nino, then._

A hand being put over Plagg's head, Adrien stroked it.

"Sorry we didn't get him back."

"You couldn't have done much more," Plagg replied, gently, now looking at Hawkmoth. "I hope he is not mean to him. It helps when the holder likes us, you know? Especially if they are like _that_ and we are alone." Plagg's voice turned quieter. "Like I was."

"Like _you_ were?"

It was like a lightning bolt had hit the kwami. Plagg dropped the phone, rising belly up in front of Adrien.

"But it's good to see Nooroo with a keen sense of style!" he exclaimed. "Like _moi_! Look at that smart suit! No more of those rags he got his holders in! You should have seen those things—!"

"No, no, no," Adrien interrupted, one hand raised. "You were telling me something else. What was this about you being alone?"

"The time!" Plagg shrieked, pointing at the clock right next to one of mother's pictures. "Look at the time! Don't you have some of that school to attend or something?"

"We have time." They actually hadn't, but that was nor here nor there and he was worried. "What happened?"

A tiny hand was now calling his attention to the phone lying in the midst of the ruffled white sheets he was sitting on, the image of a mass of white butterflies blasting through the Parisian streets, of Hawkmoth disappearing among them, making a smug expression cross Plagg's face.

"Do you know I can do that too?" he queried, green eyes twinkling. "With cats?"

 _C–Cats?_

"Watch!"

"No! Don't do that with cats!" Adrien exclaimed and closed both hands over the kwami, shoving him inside the school bag and rushing to get out of the room, his race for the atrium broken only by the sound of footsteps and of a door being unlocked, the same ominously calm—

"What do you mean there is a problem with the line-up?"

—that made Plagg peer from inside the bag, making last night come back to haunt Adrien with such clarity that he was frozen for a moment, hand over the cold marble handrail, looking up at the topmost floor and father's bedroom door, the certainty he had been either crying or clinging to him– _sometimes both!_ –for most of the night sending him fleeing the other way in a panic.

" _Ohh_ —He is up early!" Plagg announced, happily, voice muffled by father locking his door and Adrien struggling to get the one leading to his room open.

Why, why must father be up early?! He was never up early!

"Also, that is some fancy light blue he has on!" Plagg continued. "I admit that suit he wore yesterday really didn't fit his—Wait! Where are we going?!"

Adrien had just managed to get back inside his room, a perplexed Plagg taking to watch him take cover behind the door and then peek through the small gap between it and the doorframe.

"What are you _doing_?" he queried, flying out of the bag and joining him in watching father stop for a pair of seconds in the top floor landing, frowning and looking around the empty black and white atrium. "You are always saying he is never around and now that he is—"

" _Shhh_ —"

"—you are not saying hi to him?"

Adrien bit his lips. Father was going down the stairs now. Phone pressed to one shoulder and going over his wrist buttons, the grimace flashing through his face from time to time leading Adrien to stretch his neck, trying to work out if that was actually pain or just irritation—then he closed the door, head going to rest against the climbing wall behind him, Plagg left to stare at him.

"Are you hiding from your father?"

Actually, he was. After _last night_ , he was far too mortified to face him. To talk to him. To even say _good morning_. In fact, there was this horrifying possibility taking hold of his mind that—

"I won't be able to face him ever again…"

"You don't _s_ _eriously_ think he is holding last night against you—" Plagg sighed, then frowned. " _Right?_ "

"And use it as an excuse to find me four bodyguards or something?" Adrien elaborated, hands running through his hair. "Yes!"

The kwami let out a good-humored cackle, a huge teasing smile on his face.

"Your father was right, you know? You are—" Plagg cleaned his throat, lading on one of the climbing rocks and going incredibly straight, hands behind his back. "Overly dramatic."

Adrien was left gaping. That was… That had been entirely too good an impression for anyone—much less a cat-shaped kwami—to ever aspire to. He had captured father to a fault. The rigid aristocratic poise. The closed expression. The careful inflection of the words. Even that thing with the sigh and the slight eye roll Adrien remembered him doing since—well, forever.

Honestly, maybe Plagg had just mimicked father a little too well.

"I was not being _overly dramatic_ ," Adrien tossed at him, crossing his arms. "One of Hawkmoth's victims was coming for him, I just wanted Father to be safe. Instead, he went all dismissive on me and did whatever he pleased!"

"Don't you do that to him?"

"It's not remotely the same!" Adrien retorted, back to running his hands through his hair. "And you know what? After yesterday, he must be thinking I am a _baby_!"

"If he is like any of the fathers I knew, he will always see you as one."

Adrien pressed his temples, facing the kwami's bright green eyes and huge grin with a sigh.

Really?

"You are so not helping, Plagg."

Opening the door to peek outside again, finding father on the lower floor, blue eyes having slipped to the portrait of the two of them hanging on the stairs, Adrien dropped his head, the sadness that had been on father's face just before he entered the atelier now reflected on his.

"Why are you defending him all of a sudden?" he asked Plagg, quietly, only to be met with an innocent expression.

"Can I _not_ like your father?"

 _Yeah, right._

"Tell me one thing you like about him that doesn't play into your laziness."

"Is him wanting you to stay in the house one of those?"

Adrien rolled his eyes— _Figures_ —and opened the bag, pointing inside. Plagg obeyed with a very theatrical sigh, yawning as he went to sit on the small cardboard box next to the piled up books, looking up at him.

"Go and say hi to him."

"After _yesterday_? I can't."

"Of course, you can!" Plagg laughed and Adrien _surely_ was not seeing him cuddling cheese as he curled next to the books. "But do as you wish, I will sleep and _not_ hear _anything_ about how much you miss him for the rest of the day!"

Adrien bit his lips.

"That is not— _Plagg?_ "

Snoring. And shaking his head, reaching inside the bag to cover the kwami with a handkerchief, Adrien stepped outside, waving at his bodyguard upon finding him making his way inside, and ending up stopping in front of the atelier despite it all, hand raised, taking a deep breath, and—

 _"Missing?"_

His hand stopped upon hearing father's voice talking on the phone. The short knock still loud enough that there was movement inside, the clicking of low heels coming his way, then stopping as the door handle was pulled down and Nathalie appeared, hair tied in her usual bum, clipboard in hand, a short "yes?" being drowned by father's voice shouting from the other end of the atelier.

 ** _"What do you mean some are missing?!"_**

Nathalie glanced to her left, towards the place the infuriated exclamation had risen from, Adrien's effort to follow her lead and peek inside being cut by her stepping out, one hand over his shoulder softly pulling him alongside her.

 ** _"Those drafts are_** _**numbered! How did no one get an inkling something was off?!"**_

"What happened?" Adrien queried, attention on the door she was closing. "Is there a problem?"

"Not one you should concern yourself with," Nathalie cut him off, skillfully, calling his attention to her as she leaned over the schedule on her clipboard, one she had now taken to read. "You have fencing after school. Two hours on account of the tournament. Mr. Agreste has asked me to reschedule your Chinese lessons for today and Thursday on account of it. They are on the weekend now. Saturday."

She gazed at him from over her clipboard, before letting it drop to her side.

"I believe you have a birthday party on Sunday."

 _Marinette's surprise party_ , Adrien recalled and, for a moment, he stared at Nathalie.

"You—" He hesitated. "You remembered that?

Her brows immediately drew together.

"Of course. You told me."

"And you spoke with Father?" He was barely able to believe she had done it. Again. When he hadn't found the courage to. "Can I go?"

"If you wish."

He stopped just short of tossing his arms around her. The memory of how tense she got every time he had hugged her making him smile at her instead.

"Thanks."

Even something as simple as this seemed to make her uncomfortable, though. She dropped her eyes to the floor, giving a bag Adrien hadn't noticed she had been carrying to his bodyguard.

"Change of clothes," she clarified, still not looking at him. "For after fencing. Do you have everything you need?"

"Yes." He pointed at the bag on his shoulder and one of the two now hanging from his bodyguard's arms. "School bag. Fencing equipment. I will see you later!"

He made it for the door, stepping onto the front courtyard with his bodyguard, a sudden feeling of freedom practically sending him running to the car parked at the foot of the stairs before Nathalie was able to call to him.

"Adrien…" she sighed from the top of the stairs. "Schedule."

 _Oups!_ He ran back to her and towards the sun beaten _chateau_ , taking the schedule out of her left hand and putting it inside the bag.

"Right! Tell Father I wish him a–"

He hesitated, the irate **_"I don't care how they got lost!"_** coming from inside the house making the two of them glance at the hallway and the atelier door, Nathalie getting back to him with one eyebrow raised.

"A good day?" she offered.

"A tolerable one might be better," Adrien replied in kind, massaging his neck, and for a moment, a mere second, he thought he saw her smile. "Bye, Nathalie!"

And he stepped down the stairs again, putting his bags inside the trunk, then getting into the car, one last glance towards the atelier's windows just before the iron gates cut the house from the city making a sudden sadness sweep over his mind.

"See you later, Father."

Plagg was right. He missed him already.

 **Gabriel**

The video-call was turned off in rage, irate words still echoing in the atelier as the display returned to the black butterfly that was his company's logo and Gabriel moved away from the white console, teeth clenched and fuming, attention snapping to the opening door and Nathalie as soon as she made her way back inside.

"It stood to reason that **_someone_** in a five floor building would know how to do their jobs!" he snarled, hands behind his back, pacing leading him around the table. "We have a one hundred piece line for the fashion show. Fifteen drafts weren't delivered— _or so they state_ —and **_no one_** thinks to bring it to my attention until the last minute?! We have what?! Six weeks?!"

Closing the door, Nathalie nodded, moving to stand between the table and the windows after he marched passed her, attention following his back.

"That is about it, yes."

"Am I **_expected_** to deliver half a year's work in three days?!" Gabriel snapped. "Or to have the full workshop moved on location and the pieces still being stitched together—or better yet _glued!_ —right in the middle of the event?!"

"Those pieces were registered," Nathalie reminded him, calmly, her position right in the middle of his path forcing his pacing to a halt. "Even if they were stolen, your legal team—"

"A lot of good they are if some meddlesome reporter gets his hands on whatever was made of them—and at this point someone already made sure they did!—and starts accusing me of plagiarism!"

Gabriel pressed the bridge of his nose. The headlines. To think of the headlines!

"If it is bad publicity I want, I can put it out myself! I don't need these vultures circling around me to— _Sacré!_ With how much I pay these people it's not much to ask them to think! Or, at the very least _count_!"

"You are certain you sent them?" Nathalie insisted, a step to her left keeping her on his path and him on spot when he tried to move passed her. "Can they be here? In the house?"

"They are _not_ –"

A low grumble—the sound of a car engine coming to live—stroke him silent. Standing straighter, head turning towards the windows still in time to see Adrien go around the black car, Gabriel took an instinctive step towards him—and came to a stop. A look at the street beyond the iron gate, at the people walking by, rushing to get to metro station just in front, leading him to retreat further inside the atelier… where it was safe and he was out of sight.

"How was he?" he queried, watching Adrien disappear behind the tinted windows. "After—?"

 _Yesterday_ was left unspoken between them, Nathalie too turning her gaze outside, towards Adrien—no matter if a shadow was everything they could see after he closed the car's door—leaving them side by side for a moment. In silence. Until silence become overwhelming.

"Was he alright?"

"He seemed to be," Nathalie reassured. "Excited for school. His usual self."

"He had everything?"

"I made sure."

A glance his way and Nathalie stepped back, her reflection—still clear to him even as his attention remained outside, on the departing black car—turning smaller as she walked the entire length of the table, to the trolley on the opposite end of it.

"Adrien won't be back until dinner," she informed, taking a carefully organized stack of paper from inside one of the blue archives and putting it on the table. "He has fencing after school."

"I recall."

A pair of blue eyes met his through the reflection, hesitant, his questioning frown achieving nothing but make her attention drift to the sketch lying on top of the pile she had just put down.

"I have taken the liberty of marking the tournament on your agenda," she went on to say, her fingers gently stroking the paper, the already fading smile the sketch had brought to her face seeming to steel her enough to face him again. "I assumed you wished to attend it."

Gabriel looked back, not at her but at the golden painting at the end of the atelier. Eyes on Emilie's green ones. Heart torn.

"You have never missed any of Adrien's fencing events before." Nathalie reminded him, the sound of the iron gates closing making Gabriel turn back to the window, towards Adrien, to find the courtyard empty… and him gone. "Sir?"

He shook his head, marching to where she stood next to the console, an appraising look at the stacks of paper, ending with him giving a wide gesture to it all.

"What is this?"

Emptying another of the archives, Nathalie kept at her work, unshaken by the sudden chill to his words.

"It is possible I misfiled some of the works for the fashion show."

"You? _Misfiling_?" Gabriel sneered, fingers reaching for the closest of the archives. "I find that improba–"

His entire body shuddered, the stab of pain sinking into his wrist sending the archive back to the table, its contents spilling everywhere, cascading to the floor, leaving him to hold his right wrist to his chest. The pain was such he didn't notice Nathalie leave his side. Or step out of the atelier. Or even returning. Only that she was here now and had somehow managed to make him sit and get the arm out of his grip. Her fingers were unbuttoning the wrist buttons. The black bruising underneath immediately made her grimace.

"With your permission."

The touch of her fingertips while rolling up the sleeve almost made him rip his arm away from her, unsettled. The cloth she was raising to his wrist, the pain that came with it leaving him fighting to keep still until a soothing cold took the fight out of him, allowing him to lean his head to one hand and close his eyes—the Miraculous taking to pulse alongside the calm voice at his side.

"Is there a problem?" Nathalie sounded more than just concerned. "It's just ice."

Yes, he could see that _now_. What had he thought–?

"Sir?"

"Ice, Nathalie," he said, eyes still firmly closed. Pain seemed to have robbed his voice from much, if not all, emotion. "You brought ice. It stood to reason someone as overqualified as you–"

"Would take you to a hospital?"

"You are not taking me to a hospital."

"You said this would be healed in the morning," Nathalie argued, inflexible. "Or did you forget to specify which one?"

Their eyes met. Dull blue and bright blue. The first gazing through the fingers covering them, the second taking the glare in stride. In the end, however, it was Nathalie who broke the stare, shaking her head, attention dropping to the vicious bruising on his skin and the ice she held to it.

"How does that feel?"

"Discreet."

"Feel," she sighed, moving the ice very softly over the bruise. "There is no one in the house to see it."

"Otherwise, they would have a great deal of difficulty to unsee it," Gabriel replied, testing his fingers, the bolt of pain running up his arm was still there, if numbed out by the cold. "It's—bearable."

"Bearable." Nathalie repeated and leaned closer, voice dropping. "How do you intend to work like this?"

"I will not be repeating last night's stunt anytime soon. This should hardly be problematic."

It felt as if someone had punched his chest. The Miraculous pulsing, _painfully_ , leaving him to study the woman at his side.

"I thought it would please you," he trailed off, eyebrows drawing together. Her sadness seemed to have only deepened further.

"When I spoke of work, I meant—"

Nathalie looked around, to the sketches over the table, to the stone models in front of them, to the atelier as a whole—and shook her head, getting back to her feet, back to her job and the sheets spread out all over the table and floor.

"Before I forget, Sir—" she said, evening up the edges of the pile she had just gathered against the table, a glance his way finding Gabriel holding the ice to his own arm. "Your son told me to wish you a tolerable day."

"By any chance did he also tell you what he was doing bolting for his room rather than telling me that?"

"Not that I recall."

The small pile was extended to him. Rather than let it fall to his hands, however, Nathalie held on to it, calling his attention to her.

"Adrien really did that?" she queried, eyebrows raised.

"It was a poor spectacle," he told her, fondness somewhat softening his otherwise disapproving tone. "Worse considering he was peeking from inside his room afterwards."

"You didn't go to him?"

"He didn't seem to want me to."

The sketches were set over the table, a glance to his left—towards one of the first piles Nathalie had put down—making him stretch his hand to pick up the sketch lying on top, the one she had been smiling at not that long ago. He was frowning as soon as his eyes fell on it. The two-piece dark yellow suit with black details—something from the winter collection from four or five seasons ago, if he remembered correctly—immediately making him question why she had even been smiling at this in the first place.

"Hardly your style," he commented. "Mustard? That is something I would expect of Audrey Bourgeois and that daughter of hers, not— _Ah._ Of course."

He had just lifted the picture stapled on top corner, the one showing the piece on the runway, the registry lying beneath, filled on Nathalie's distinctive backhand writing, making him press his lips. Audrey had bought this. What a surprise.

"A shame, isn't it?" he went on to say, the trace of melancholy in his voice making Nathalie raise her attention from the works she was picking from the floor and look between him and the sketches he was now flicking through. "With whom it ended with. With whom must of these end with, instead of someone— _deserving._ "

Gabriel got up, leaving the sketches behind, his path leading him passed his assistant and towards the bookcase to the right of the table. Attention caught on Adrien's drawing—still tore but back on its place—he pulled a folder from one of the dossiers standing to the side, making his way back to the table.

"I will need you to deliver something to headquarters."

Receiving the folder from his hands, Nathalie peeked inside, curious—then, with eyebrows raised.

"It doesn't look like the rest of the collection," she commented, attention going over the suit with its wide trousers and open jacket. "It doesn't even look like one of yours."

"It doesn't?"

Nathalie raised her attention to him, studying his expression.

"I assume it's intentional."

"That's Adrien's attire. For the fashion show," he clarified, rolling down the sleeve to button it up again, Nathalie's touch still lingering. "I needed it to match the hat's style, more importantly not to overstage it. I probably should have let that friend of his have a try at the model, considering it's her work—"

It would have given him time, come to think of it. Time he desperately needed. But it mattered little now. It was done.

"We will need the new measurements for that piece," he said, fingers tapping the top of the folder. "Not to say every single other he models in the next weeks if his photograph constant moaning about having to drive three different sizes to every photo shot location is anything to go by."

Nathalie nodded, making her way to her desk on the other side of the atelier.

"More importantly, however," he continued. "When you are with Adrien at lunch see that he eats something. I am not at all certain whatever they serve in that school qualifies as food."

The folder was put over the desk next to the windows, Nathalie looking back, expression filled with confusion, making Gabriel frown.

"You told him." There was a trace of impatience on his voice. "About today's measurements."

"Today's?"

He pressed his lips.

"I informed you about this last night."

"You _didn't_ —I will phone him right away."

Nathalie practically ran outside, the door clicking behind her leaving him to himself, the empty atelier and Nooroo as he flew out of the jacket, the fearful look he gave him barely registering in his mind as he took the blue scarf from around his neck and set it right beside the sketch Nathalie had looked so fondly at, taking it into his hands, wondering, until the Miraculous gave one loud beep and he set it aside, stepping into the darkness under Emilie's watchful gaze.

"Today," he promised her.

He would not be failing _today_.

 **Adrien**

"There is something weird going on with my schedule," Adrien stated, his voice, barely audible under the conversations and laughter filling the school inner courtyard, still loud enough to make all three of his friends lean forward and close ranks around him. "This can't be right."

Heads joined in a circle, what was clearly intended as helpful enthusiasm giving away to pensive expressions, Alya, Marinette and Nino ended up going back to sit on the cold tile floor, trading a series of confused glances.

"What is the problem?" Alya, seemingly the trio's silently elected spokeswoman, queried, eyebrows raised. "It looks normal."

To them, perhaps. And that was kind of the problem. What was normal to his friends was usually nothing short of abnormal to him.

"I have free time."

Seated right in front of him, Nino let out a guffaw of laughter, patting his shoulder with such enthusiasm Adrien and the two girls where left staring at him.

"Come on, dude, you are worried because you have _free time_?" Nino beamed, grinning widely. "It's more like your old man is finally seeing the light!"

"Don't let Father hear you calling him _that_."

"Dude, the guy hates me already," Nino shrugged, taking the schedule out of his hands to study it and smiling all the more widely. "This looks great!"

Arms crossed, leaning towards Nino so she could read it too, Alya gave a doubtful look to the groaning metal stairs they had chosen to seat beneath before returning to Adrien with a serious expression.

"Maybe you simply don't have anything today?" she offered, diplomatically.

"No photo shots? No piano practice?" Adrien shook his head, watching as Nino passed the schedule around and to Marinette. "I always, _always_ have something."

Having kept quiet until know—for the most part busy tying her raven black hair into a single gym-class-approved-ponytail as she listened to the rest of them speak—Marinette put her legs beneath her, going to sit in what was practically a kneeling position, and tilted her head towards the schedule, pensive. In the end, she gave it a firm nod and raised her attention towards Adrien. Serious and matter-of-fact.

"Maybe I want to spend time with you."

He barely managed not to be smacked in the face by Alya as she raised her arms in celebration. The words so completely wiping the schedule, the school, the people running down the stairs above and the tiny bits of rust falling on them—not to say absolutely everything else—off his mind, that he had turned to Marinette the same instant. Smiling, if completely perplexed.

"You do?"

" _Yes_ –" Her eyes seemed to double in size, the dreamy sigh turning into full-fledged panic. "No! I mean maybe your father wants to spend time with us!"

 _W-What?_

"Father… wants to spend time with us?"

"With you!" Marinette half laughed, letting her head fall to her hands under Adrien's increasingly confused gaze. "No, that isn't it either."

"Girl—" Alya sighed, joining Nino in giving Marinette a sympathetic pat on the head before turning towards a very puzzled Adrien. "She meant he, your father, wants you to spend time with us, you know, your friends."

 _Oh_ —Adrien's attention returned to Marinette, finding her with her head hanging low and biting her lips, eyes jumping between him and the floor. Was that what she had meant? That was—That was sweet. And it made him smile. At her. No matter, how wrong she was.

"I really doubt it," he nevertheless told the group, fighting with himself for a moment before deciding to confide in them. "Father doesn't get friends. Or has friends. He has people he hates whom he calls friends."

There were three very incredulous expressions in front of him. Nino's paramount among them.

"That dude is so incredibly messed up."

"I know he is messed up," Adrien sighed, trying to shrug away the defensive _'He was not like that'_ rising in the back of his mind only to hear it come tumbling down his tongue either way and end up smiling brightly at his friends and the curious, if barely audible, question coming from Marinette.

"What was he like?"

"Mother used to tell him he was just over the top weird."

They laughed. Fortunately. Alya tossing her head back for a heart-felt chuckle, Nino putting forth a good-humored–

"Your mother was some brave lady."

–Marinette…

Their eyes meet as he turned to her expecting—he didn't know what he had been expecting. He just knew what he found. Marinette was still looking at him. Waiting. Seeming to have noticed that what he had given them was no answer. Judging by the hand moving to touch his arm, fingers rubbing it and then retreating as her eyes dropped again, that this in his face was no smile.

It made his chest clench with guilt.

 _Sorry. It's not you_ —

Adrien hit her shoulder lightly, playfully, his remorse actually getting worse when she still found it in herself to raise her eyes to him and met his smile with one of her own.

 _It's just..._

It would have been no good answering. They wouldn't believe him. Not when it came to father. Nobody ever did. And that left him with only Nathalie. She had been with them _before_. And there was no one left other than the two of them to remember him now.

"Are you alright, dude?"

Nino's question brought him back to the school courtyard, to the giggling and shouting and the basketball game going on just a few meters away—not to mention the group now running back up the stairs and making the metal give out a menacing groan. It was not the first time it crossed his mind they should get away from here, but not a second later he was back to the schedule and the stairs no longer mattered.

"They must have forgot to put something in," he put forth, tilting his head towards Marinette who still had the schedule.

"Isn't that good though?" she offered, looking at him. "No one can blame you if they made a mistake."

"Yeah, dude, what she said!" Nino immediately jumped in. "There is enough time for him to come with us, right?"

They were all looking at Alya now, who, pressing her lips thoughtfully, stretched her arm and with a quick _'Give it here'_ snatched the schedule Marinette was already giving her.

"So you have two hours after lunch, and then fencing—" she read, still with the same pensive expression. "Yeah there is no trouble. You have more than enough time to be back here for fencing."

Nino punched the air in joy.

"What say you?" he said, rising one hand to high-five Adrien and seeing him remain on his spot, fingers drumming on his knee, lips pressed. "Dude, come on!"

"I don't know… You have all seen how Father is..."

"Kind of a control-freak?" Nino put forth, not unkindly, only to be elbowed on both sides by Alya and Marinette. "What? He knows it's true."

"That doesn't mean you get to say it," Alya whispered through the corner of her mouth, letting her head fall in both her hands when Nino looked at her, utterly confused.

"But I have told him before. Tons of–"

" _Really?_ "

Adrien traded a quick glance with Marinette, their attempt to stop the scolding before it started failing so spectacularly they ended up turning to each other with strained smiles, trying to block Alya and Nino out with—

"So what do the three of you usually do?" Adrien asked, glancing at the basketball game on the other end of the courtyard, the ball missing the basket, ricocheting and jumping down the field while most everyone tried and failed to grab it, giving him about as good an escape as a chuckle. "Movies? Something of the sort?"

"It depends," Marinette mused, bright blue eyes going from him to the basketball field and then back to him, a small smile touching her face before she started to count through her fingers. "There is the pool, André's ice-creams, the ice ring… We were just going to camp at Alya's house today. She bought this new dancing game she wants to show us. And I have my bag full of kitchen supplies, we were going to bake a cake and—"

Marinette stopped, her building of excitement giving way to a look of uncertainty. She was fidgeting with her fingers now. Biting her lips. Her next words spoken in a quiet voice.

"You want to come with us even if it is just that—" Her voice become tinier still. "Don't you?"

Adrien blinked, attention immediately breaking away from the basketball game to focus entirely on her face. Just—Just _that_? Every single one of those things seemed like more fun than he had had his entire life! And he did want to go to Alya's. More than anything. Yet, one hand running through his hair, he sighed, looking dejected.

"I do want to go, but it's a mistake for sure and I don't want to get Nathalie into trouble."

"Why would she get in trouble?"

"If I am not where I am supposed to be, when I am supposed to be over some mistake in the schedule, Father will blame her," he confided in her. Only to drop his voice further, certain he didn't want anyone other than Marinette hearing what he said next. "Thing is, he is the one who forgets to tell her I have something to attend. It's always his fault."

Marinette was tilting her head at him, seemingly having a tough time making any sense of what he had said. No wonder, considering it made none.

"They seemed to get along," she finally mused, curious.

"They do get along—" _Wait_... Adrien's eyebrows drew together, eyes searching Marinette's expression. "How do you know that?"

"I—"

Her eyes seemed to reach twice their usual size before she hit his arm clumsily—it reminded him of something, _someone, yesterday…_ but before he could connect the dots as to who that was, her words had started to run over each other and he had lost his train of thought.

"You told us, remember?!" Marinette exclaimed. "She was the one who got into school and also—also... he listens to her, isn't it?!"

"I–"

The school bell going off left him pondering. Had he really said all of that? He didn't remember telling anyone anything of the—

"You did tell us," Alya intervened, elbowing Nino to get his attention away from the rest of the class, the school bell having made their colleagues rush to gather on the courtyard's lower floor as everyone else moved up the stairs to the classrooms. "Remember?"

Nino turned his attention from waving at the very pink and also excitedly waving Rose and looked at the three of them with a smile.

"What are we talking about?"

"He **_told us_** it was Nathalie that got him to school," Alya repeated, pointing at Adrien. " _Right?_ "

Nino seemed confused about who Nathalie even was for a moment.

"Nathalie… is that lady who opens the door?" he ended up asking, cautiously, turning to Adrien for answers. "Blue eyes, pretty—?"

Alya's eyebrows jumped up.

"You think she is pretty?"

"—scary!" Nino's immediate u-turn made Alya press her lips in a clear attempt to stop herself from bursting out laughing. "The way she looks at you... And she and your father have this weird vibe going on, dude. Like they are surfing the same mental wave or something. He gets up there in the stairs and she is here right next to you and is like these two ice fronts crash right where you are and— _Whoosh!_ Instant kill, man!"

Marinette blinked, she too had taken to wave at their colleagues, in her case, however, that didn't seem to hinder her from paying attention to the conversation.

"They do that?" she asked, turning back to them.

"Yeah, they do," Adrien cringed, and Nino's description was horribly accurate to say the least. Still from there to there being a weird vibe— "There is no weird vibe."

Nino shook his head with fervor.

"There is an incredibly weird vibe," he insisted, looking at the staffroom door—no teacher yet in sight—before continuing. "And then the house gives off this cold feeling, like—like something isn't right. I mean… That hallway, that _portrait_ —"

All four of them shared a shiver.

"All the more reasons to rescue you!" Nino exclaimed, seemingly becoming aware of the atmosphere his words were creating. "Come on, you can blame me if it explodes in our faces! I am a bad influence, remember? I will tell your father I wrestled you all the way to Alya's or something while you tried to be all responsible and get home."

Adrien chuckled at the image, going back to look at the schedule. He really, _really_ wanted to go with them, but—

"It's just a mistake."

"Wouldn't they have phoned by now if it was, though?" Marinette stepped in, serious, a note of something that wasn't usually in her voice making her sound— _different_. "If something was really wrong it wouldn't be that hard to fix."

Alya nodded, head going to rest on one hand.

"She is right, you know."

"See?" Nino said, and judging by his expression he had come just short of hugging both girls. "So you are fine, dude!"

Maybe he was. And a hint of hope had just found its way to his heart as he looked up to his friends.

"You really think he gave me some free time?"

There were now three hands instead of one raised to high-five his and rising in answer he ended being pulled into the group.

"You are coming with us!"

 ** _BAM!_**

All four of them jumped. A door flying across the courtyard, leaving them locked in an awkward four people embrace and the rest of the class rooted on spot as a human-like creature with the head of a bull stepped outside the staffroom, a butterfly-shaped line of light surrounding its eyes.

"What the hell is _that_?!"

The words broke the spell that had kept them all in place. The school erupted in screaming. The ensuing panic—sending the groups waiting outside the classrooms fleeing in every direction, those already in the courtyard trying to get to the street—allowing Adrien to get lost from his friends who too tried to escape, sneak inside the empty locker room and run to get Plagg.

"Hawkmoth is at it _already_?" the kwami queried, still inside the locker and rubbing his eyes. "So early in the morning?"

There was snapping coming from outside, the rustling of leaves. Trading a quick glance, Adrien and Plagg rushed along the line of lockers and to the window, the huge hedges rising to surround the school coming clearly into view before they transformed.

 _You so have got to be kidding me!_ Adrien grumbled, opening the nearest window with the tip of the staff and extending it still in time to be able to get on top of the nearest hedge and rise over the city alongside it.

Could he not get one quiet day at school?! What on earth did the man do with his life?!

 **Nathalie**

Gabriel had failed. Again. She had known it from the moment she entered the dark atelier—even if she hadn't seen him leave or noticed his absence as she so often did. Still, it was obvious. At least to her. It was in the tense line of his shoulders. In the twitch of his lips. In the way he kept pacing around the table and going over the archives from past seasons—even if he was doing little but humoring her by now. He knew he would find nothing as well as she did.

"What is it?"

Her attention slipped to the metal shutters covering the windows, then back to the shadows from where the brusque query had risen and the man moving among them. The feeling she had just spotted something purple dart over the table to get to him, leaving her to look at the dark blue waistcoat he wore and only then at his face.

"There was a call from headquarters."

Gabriel's pacing came to a stop near the stone models. Turning to her, a cold grin distorting his features, he tilted his head, cold and slightly mocking.

"Now _they_ have taken to hide behind you too?"

"For the bad news, Sir. As always."

Laughter exploded on the atelier. Too loud and too cold and filled with something dark that made her close her fingers over the clipboard she carried with her, then drop it over her desk and walk to him, placing a determined hand on his arm. She could feel him shiver when she touched him, a ripple going softly through him. The laughter immediately stopping. The grin fading. A pair of lifeless blue eyes meeting hers as she spoke.

"There will be other opportunities."

"For _what_? Other _failures_?"

Her fingers closed tighter over his arm, holding it—holding him—until a sharp intake of breathe went passed his lips and Gabriel closed his hand over hers, squeezing it—and moved away, across the atelier, leaving Nathalie to watch his back as he stopped next to Emilie's golden painting, not raising his eyes to it.

"What did headquarters tell you?" he queried, back cut against the painting's illumination, the only light he had allowed inside.

"They have been able to confirm they received the complete line-up," Nathalie informed him. "They are conducting an internal investigation to try to find where the missing works ended up."

"They should try our competitors' databases."

Nathalie's expression hardened.

"Should I tell them that?"

"By all means, allow _me_ ," Gabriel replied, darkly, a smirk twisting his features as he turned to her—and then fading, a slight frown replacing it. "You have talked with Adrien."

"Of course. I will join him briefly."

She stepped back with that. Fleeing his gaze, least he saw the lie. A last look inside the atelier showing Gabriel again with his back to her, glasses being set aside, pressing his eyes, before the door clicked between them and she was left hugging the clipboard, attention on the black and white butterfly pattern on the atrium's floor. Admonishing herself for her lack of courage. For leaving him alone.

"Mlle. Sancoeur."

The calling, rising alongside the sound of the front door opening, made her back immediately go straighter, the stern–

"Yes?"

–with which she addressed whoever was getting inside, crossing her lips just as she turned on her heels. The atrium opened in front of her, the tenuous blades of light coming from its various windows joined by a brighter, warmer one from the door before it was closed and everything was again left surrounded in a halo of cold light. The presence of the massive man that was now inside, his expression one of trained unfriendliness, not in any way enough to drown the solitude of it all.

"You left Adrien at school?" Nathalie queried.

Moving away from the door, a look of uncertainty flashing through the dark eyes as he came to stop in the middle of the entrance, Adrien's bodyguard gazed at her, questioningly.

"I know about yesterday, yes," she told him, evenly, fingers drumming on the clipboard. And for a man that easily made three of her on muscle alone, it was amazing how the words threatened to knock him off his feet. "Adrien told me he _'jumped out of the back seat.'_ "

A discreet look towards the atelier door and the dark eyes returned to her.

"M. Agreste knows, but there were other—" She stopped, glancing at the step Adrien had been slumbering on yesterday, the shout of _"Father!"_ that still seemed to echo around her, the image of Adrien sinking into Gabriel's chest that was still so clearly engraved on her mind, softening her expression when she continued. "There were more important matters to attend to. I believe it skipped his mind."

An expression of relief answered her words. As much as she understood it, it wasn't at all what she intended to accomplish right now.

"I know Adrien can be charming and that it makes him—" She looked at the atelier door, the right word coming to her mind the instant she thought of the man she had left inside. "Persuasive. But he is only fifteen. And on the present state of affairs—"

"The Butterfly," Adrien's bodyguard grunted immediately, his accent, normally so heavy his words where mostly unintelligible, now leaving her throat in a knot. "This morning already. Bull-thing running rampant in the streets."

He seemed to notice her confusion for he turned to the windows, helpful, and pointed outside. High over the nearest roofs.

"Giant hedges?"

"No, I—"

She hadn't noticed _anything_. She had been busy inside the vault, going over half the archives, trying to call Adrien and struggling to find some way of keeping Gabriel from reaching critical mass before lunch was even served. Not that she had any hope of keeping him from doing so after that. Not with headquarters bent on making the already stressful situation with the rapidly approaching fashion show even worse by losing some of his works. That would be bad enough if he was in his normal state of mind. As volatile as he had become—

Nathalie shook her head.

No, whatever had gone down already truly didn't matter right now.

"Keep Adrien within sight at all times," she told the bodyguard, sternly. "Today for starters. He has some measurements to attend to. It would be good if he was _driven_ there."

 _Provided that I can contact him_ , she told herself, reaching inside her jacket's pocket to frown at the still very much empty display. She hadn't got a call back. A message. Nothing to say Adrien had at least seen her multiple calls. This was not like him at all.

 _What are you doing?_

Or better yet–

 _Where is your phone?_

Walking towards the staircase, fingers flying over the list of contacts and hitting Adrien's, Nathalie glanced outside, towards the two cars parked on the front courtyard and back to the muscular man still standing at the entrance.

"I will accompany the two of you to headquarters," she told him. "That should make it easier for you to keep track of him."

She raised one hand, silencing him before he could answer, and listening to the silence around her. Waiting. _Waiting_ —Both she and Adrien's bodyguard raised their heads. What could be muffled music, making them look at the middle floor. To the door leading to Adrien's room. They were marching up the stairs a moment later. The man stopping at the entrance as she opened the door and got inside. The music was louder here, and a quick look around—going over the many fencing posters, the sofa, the piano and the desk to finally stop at the unmade bed—rapidly told her why.

The phone. It was here. So much for calling him.

"Call the school," she ordered looking towards the door, then reached over the bed to pick the phone and disconnect her own call, the video immediately jumping to the forefront once she did, the grinning, masked man on it, making her heart jump.

"Mlle. Sancoeur."

"Yes?"

"School won't pick up."

 _Of course not_ , Nathalie sighed, marching to the door, taking the phone from the bodyguard's hand and calling the school, again, as if she doing it could possibly change things–Unsurprisingly, it didn't.

"You left Adrien at school?"

The chill to her question actually made Adrien's bodyguard step back. Or maybe–Maybe that hadn't been her at all. An enormous hand was rising to point at something behind her, there were shadows running across the floor. Nathalie turned just in time to see the sky go completely dark beyond the glass wall.

 _Oh no…_

"Get to school," she ordered, not missing a beat, fingers closing tighter over Adrien's phone. "See what happened."

She gave a last look to the room as he disappeared down the stairs, a glimpse of a class photograph on Adrien's desk—right next the wall of those of him with his mother—making her step back inside the room to pick it up, her attention going from Adrien, standing on the back row, to a tall boy in a red hat and from him to a petite shy-looking girl smiling on the front row.

Nino and Marinette. One of them had to know where he was. And exiting the room, she wished she had the heart not to care about how unkind both she or Gabriel had been to both of them. To pretend they weren't the only ones amidst all of Adrien's colleagues who had ever come to this house, alone and on his behalf. Today of all days she truly wished she lived up to her surname– _and did not care._

Her heels echoed loud on the empty atrium as she rushed down the stairs, the ceiling lights painting the white marble in a warm yellow giving the house a very different atmosphere as she took her overcoat from the coat hanger at the back and stepped under the prematurely darkened sky, a last look towards the house, the roof and the observatory lying within making her hesitate before entering the car Adrien's bodyguard had left behind.

No. She needn't burden Gabriel with this. Not when she could still feel him shiver under her touch. Not when Adrien was more probably than not safe and sound. Not unless she couldn't fix the situation herself.

And yet, despite her decision, seeing the gates close behind her, fear still found a way to her heart, making her press Adrien's forgotten phone to her chest as she drove into the city.

She didn't know what frightened her the most.

That she truly didn't know where Adrien was—her attention slipped from the road to the video Adrien had left running, to Chat Noir as he twirled his staff, raising it to the approaching Hawkmoth—

Or that Gabriel was right about Chat Noir and she would see Adrien—

 _Soon enough._

 **Adrien**

Honestly, some days were just a bit much, Adrien thought, his transformation collapsing just as he was about to land on the black roof under him, forcing him to roll on the moss covered tiles and grab for the nearest chimney, Plagg pulling on his sleeve, least he lost his footing and fell all the way to the busy street.

"Sorry, couldn't hold it anymore," the kwami apologized, taking to float under Adrien's chin, the strong smell of the cheese he had just been given making Adrien grimace when it reached his nose. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

If one could call having half his ribs stinging like crazy after being tossed against a moving bus by Hawkmoth's latest victim 'being fine.' Honestly, he wasn't that sure he wanted to see what this looked like when he got to the house, but then again as far as things that he didn't want to see went, he was having little choice but having to stare at another one right in the face.

"Sure it is one of your cars?" Plagg queried, nibbling on the cheese, green eyes rising to meet his. "There are tons of black cars, you know."

Shoulder going to rest against the chimney's brickwork, peeking from behind it, Adrien squinted at the avenue beneath them, trying to see passed the naked trees flanking the street to one of the cars stuck on the long traffic line—a queue that paid tribute to the police blockage that had kept everyone from entering this part of Paris during Hawkmoth's latest stunt.

"It's one of the cars, alright," he groaned, attention on the vehicle he had caught sight of while running on the roofs to get to Marinette's house. The tinted windows were enough of a giveaway without him being able to swear it was Nathalie behind the wheel. "I knew there was something wrong with the schedule!"

The traffic light turned to green, a strong gust of wind sending a shiver down Adrien's spine. Turning away from the street below and the now moving traffic, the sound of the tree branches slapping against each other and the cars' honking rising around him, he got back to Plagg and his cheese–Well, or just Plagg. The cheese was gone.

"Ready?"

There was no way to know what Plagg had just answered. Not while speaking with his mouth _that_ full. But Adrien would assume it was a yes. For the sake of it. And for the sake of the car now breaking away from traffic, headlights running over the Dupain-Cheng's window display and the pastry-carrying-clients getting out. For the about five seconds it would take Nathalie to disappear inside the bakery and for him to land, unseen, amidst Marinette's terrace garden.

"At least, let me savor it!" Plagg whimpered when the transformation broke again, sad green eyes watching Adrien lift the heavy flower pot he had put over the trapdoor when pretending to have been caught amidst the latest attack. "My cheese…"

He made a grab at Plagg, fingers closing around him and shoving him inside his shirt, then he opened the trapdoor, Nino's worried—

"Adrien, dude, that lady—!"

—rising from inside Marinette's pinkish room, turning into a yelp of fright and a scramble for cover when Adrien dropped from the trapdoor, falling almost on top of his best friend who, in all honesty, he hadn't noticed was standing just underneath.

"Sorry, Nino!" he blurted out, reaching out to pull Nino off the floor and back to his feet. "Are you alright?"

"Are you _insane_?" Nino gazed up, towards the trapdoor standing high over the unmistakably feminine room the four of them had spent most of the morning and afternoon at, his mouth agape. "You jumped from _there_?"

"Not insane just—"

Still stuck on being Chat Noir at this point as it seemed. And grabbing his school bag from Alya, one glance inside telling him she had gone to the trouble of packing all his things, he was off, a heartfelt "Thanks!" being thrown at his two friends as he went down a second trapdoor, and then a stairway, then another, expecting to see Marinette somewhere down here and coming to a grinding halt upon almost ramming into Nathalie on the first floor landing.

"Quick," she said, her stern, authoritarian tone seeming to take both the serenely smiling Sabine, who had been leading her inside, and the out of breath Marinette, who was running up the stairs from the bakery, by surprise. "You should have been at headquarters two hours ago."

There was something to be said about how fast he could run under the right circumstances. Akumatized people. Being late for school. Being late for fencing. Being late _in general_. The way today was going, however, he was probably set to break some kind of speed record.

"M. Agreste is deeply grateful that you let Adrien stay with you," Nathalie said as he jumped into the passenger seat, school bag tossed at his feet, sit belt rapidly put on, Nathalie herself going around the car as Plagg made a dive for the bag. "I understand school has been cancelled after one of those butterflies transformed someone on the premises. If I had known—"

Wrapping a shawl over the pinkish Cheongsam she was wearing, black hair being ruffled by the increasingly strong wind, Sabine shook her head, standing on the sidewalk, her husband, a batch of recently baked croissants on his hand, peeking over the heads of their costumers from the window display behind her.

"It was no trouble," she said, leaning over the window and giving a gentle smile to Adrien. "We like having him here."

The bakery's door was tossed open, bell ringing as it did. The warm, mouth watering smell of the pastries and cakes getting outside alongside his running friends, Adrien's utter confusion on seeing them dash across the sidewalk growing exponentially when, in a chaos of bags and coats, Nino, Marinette and Alya jumped into the backseat, put on their seatbelts and waved at him.

"What are you—?"

Nathalie too was closing her door, putting the card-key into its socket, blue eyes turning to Sabine who was still leaning next to the window, eyes on the trio on the backseat.

"Are you sure about this, Mlle.—?"

"Sancoeur," she finished for Sabine, a note of weariness to her voice. "I will get your daughter and the rest of them back home after we are finished. You don't have to worry."

The car growled softly as she hit the ignition button, looking through the rear view mirror to his friends and back to Sabine.

"Rest assured they won't be a problem."

The car joined the traffic, going by the Notre Dame and from there heading towards the modern part of the city. The Seine being left behind them. Crowd filled streets going by the windows. The piano aria coming from the radio—a reminder of whom this car was meant to belong to—giving it all a curiously tranquil atmosphere despite Adrien's present state of nerves. Still, it wasn't until the wrought iron butterfly embellishing the best part of an approaching building's glass façade was in view—the lights being turned on inside offering a rare glimpse to the people working there—that Adrien gathered enough courage to speak.

"How is Father?" he queried, turning towards Nathalie just as her fingers hit the turn indicator stalk and she took the car passed headquarters. "Is he angry?"

"He doesn't know."

Adrien blinked, vaguely aware of the small side street they were at, of the buildings going by them and his friends' attentive looks.

"You didn't tell him?"

"He has enough on his mind."

There was something in her tone—something… She had cut him off before he could understand what it was.

"What were you doing?" she queried, the backstreet leading to the building's underground parking opening around them as she brought the car to a halt near a pedestrian crossing.

"Homework?" Adrien offered, looking at the back seat for support. "Also, we ate. Watched a movie—"

Nathalie glanced at him, then at his friends through the rear view mirror.

"All at once?" she queried, shrewdly, eyebrows raised.

"It was fun."

"Loads of fun!" Alya and Nino joined in from the back seat, enthusiastically.

"We still managed to get to some video-games, afterwards," Adrien continued, all three of them pointed at the smiling, if silent, Marinette. "She won!"

Nathalie's expression was inscrutable. For a moment, it had almost seemed like she might share their smiles. But even if it was really so, it was never more than a ghost and it faded, leaving nothing behind.

"Wallet."

Adrien leaned forward, opening the glove compartment to reach for the wallet inside, the phone tumbling to his hand when he did so, leaving him staring as he gave the wallet to Nathalie.

"This is mine."

"It was in your room," Nathalie clarified, bringing the car to a stop near the entrance to the underground parking, identification being taken from the wallet and extended to the already approaching security guards. "I told M. Agreste that you arrived here on time. He believes you have been here for several hours."

Adrien raised his eyes from the phone, a sting of disappointment burying itself on his heart. He hadn't even known he had hoped father would be here. But he had been, he could hear it in his voice.

"He stayed home?"

"Fortunately," Nathalie sighed, returning the wallet to Adrien. "I wouldn't have been able to keep this up for even a moment if he had decided to do your measurements himself— _Please, put that away._ "

Nathalie's suddenly brisk tone made Adrien glance over his shoulder, a single look at the back seat showing him Alya pointing her camera to the black butterfly embellishing the now opening underground parking door, a look of utter confusion in her face.

"I won't film anything important," she guaranteed, nevertheless dropping the lens. "I know what confidentiality is."

Yeah… Adrien grimaced. He didn't doubt she did. She was not remotely the problem here. But his friends being here had come so out of nowhere, he had totally forgotten to warn them about—Ah… _certain things_.

"Sorry, it is not about that. It's just—" He gave Alya an apologetic smiling. " _Something_ happened and now _Gabriel_ —the brand, not Father—has this zero-tolerance policy with the press."

He should probably have put it some other way. Alya's curiosity had clearly been raised. She was wearing that expression she had on every time she caught a Ladybug scope for her blog.

"Why?" she queried, sincere interest in her voice, the camera being turned off. "Your father is in _haute couture,_ isn't he? Doesn't he need the press?"

Marinette moved uncomfortably on the middle seat, the way she leaned over Alya and whispered _"I will tell you later"_ to her ear, making Adrien massage his neck and return to Nathalie. Her eyes had grown cold to the point Nino was actually looking uncomfortable, pressing himself against the car door as if trying to get out of view. It made it all the more amazing how Alya could remain so unflustered as she finally remembered to return the camera to the bag.

"Thank you," Nathalie said, the rather mechanic note to the word telling it was but a formality, a way to bide time as she maneuvered the car down to the garage, eyes going back and to the rear view mirror. To study his friends. To ponder. Then, finally seeming to make a decision, she parked the car on its reserved spot and turned on her seat, to face the trio behind her.

"There was a problem this morning," she informed, managing to say not much at all. "Things will be a bit on edge inside. If M. Agreste chooses to enter a video call at any moment, whatever you think of him—" At this point, her attention stopped at Nino. "I would ask for you to keep it to yourselves. He doesn't need to hear it. And none of you can tell him something he doesn't already know."

The _something_ to her words was back. This time it made Adrien's stomach sink right through the floor, concern making him search Nathalie's expression.

"He is fine, right? He is not in a bad day?"

Nathalie pressed her lips, moving to get out of the car without answering, the door closing behind her leaving the four of them struggling to get out of the seatbelts and their seats fast enough to join her.

"What did that mean?" Nino even so asked, receiving shrugs from both girls and then turning to Adrien, their footsteps echoing loudly in the grayish underground parking. "What is a 'bad day'?"

Half jogging to catch Nathalie next to the elevators, Adrien shrugged the question away. Honestly, he didn't want to explain this. He wasn't that sure they would understand. He wasn't that sure he himself did and was doing little but accept something Nathalie had told him more than a year ago, while he waited, sitting on the stairs, for father to be home for the first time without mother.

 _"Remember he lost someone too."_

Her words were as clear as if they were being spoken now.

 _"Some days will be better than others."_

Adrien dropped his eyes as they finally caught up to Nathalie. He knew she had meant it kindly. That she had been trying to help. He couldn't blame her for not knowing father needed to hear it too.

"Can I trust you?" she was asking now, blue eyes on them, the car doors locking as she pointed the key-card at it. "All of you?"

A vigorous nod was given to her and they stepped into the lift, a key being inserted into the keypad making it rush non-stop to the top floor, where it stopped with a slight jerk. They got out, his friends following behind him and Nathalie as they marched down a long and silent corridor, going passed snake plants and water dispensers, grayish walls covered with photos from several past collections going by them, until Nathalie stopped next to a door.

"In here. Your tailor should be—"

They stopped just a few steps upon entering, Marinette, Alya and Nino still outside. The city had opened in front of them, shining magnificently under the rapidly darkening sky, the lights, turning on one by one, giving them their welcome as they shone beyond the window wall and then fading, overpowered by the ones turning on inside.

The fitting room was one Adrien had stepped into more times than he could remember. Black and white and with a small sitting area close to the window, mirrors covering all other walls. In the center, a small round platform on where to stand during measurements stood out, as well as a fitting room on one of the corners. On the whole it was a wide room, comfortable, but above all–

 _Empty._

"Where is everyone?"

The door squealed behind them, starting to close as if on its own accord, clicking in place in one ominous motion and leaving his friends outside.

"Where were you?"

Nathalie went pale. A deep voice—an all too familiar voice—coming from behind them, leaving both staring at the reflection in the window, at the man standing behind them, Nathalie's quiet "M. Agreste" getting itself all tangled on Adrien's guilt-filled "Father!" as they turned, to find him leaning against the wall right next to the closed door, their utter inability to say anything else of value visibly making him grow harsher.

"Where were you?" he repeated, arms crossed, leaning against the wall, his eyes seeming today more alive than usual. "Both of you."

Adrien glanced at Nathalie for help, finding her attention running up and down father's face, back going straighter when he again talked.

"I am waiting."

"There was a problem."

"A problem," father repeated eyes on Nathalie's, the shiver to that word, making it sound like his voice was about to break, rapidly buried under an icy note. "And all of a sudden your solution is to take the car and disappear entirely instead of talking to me? What can possibly have taken you the entire day?"

Nathalie dropped her eyes, the blue ones that had been on hers immediately turning towards Adrien.

"And you—" he said, and for how collected he sounded, Adrien would have preferred he shouted. "I have received a call, from your school, saying classes were cancelled. I truly thought I would find you here—Instead I get _missed appointments_."

He pulled himself from the wall with that, marching across the room.

"I have understood by now you have an open disregard for rules, Adrien, but there are such things as responsibilities. Trying to sneak out the house, jumping out the car, that I have learned to expect, but _this_?" He stopped next to the window, back turned to both of them. "What got into you not to wait for someone to pick you up? What can possibly justify—?"

"Father—"

He wanted to apologize. He truly had meant to. And then he heard himself speak. And it was anything but that.

"You are not blaming me— _us,_ for Hawkmoth, are you?"

There was a moment where time itself seemed to have stopped and the three of them stood in place. Nathalie getting her attention off the floor to stare wide-eyed at him. Father, in his light blue suit, looking like he, Adrien, had just poured a gallon of freezing water on him. Adrien himself barely able to believe what he had just said, but above all he couldn't— _he just couldn't!_ —believe father!

"You were blaming us for Hawkmoth," he pointed out, crossing his arms, and there was more than just a hint of accusation on his voice as he tried to face father through the reflection. "How is any of his mess our fault? If Nathalie got stuck on traffic 'the entire day' it was his fault. And he was the one who got school cancelled. I would have been there and here on time if we hadn't gotten a Minotaur instead of our teacher—"

Nathalie seemed to have just regained the ability to speak, if not exactly to emote.

"A Minotaur?"

"Yeah." Adrien turned to her now. "It came with this Paris-sized labyrinth. It also got half the school lost while trying to get to la Tour Eiffel." Nathalie's eyebrows were raised. "I know it's far but it was the only thing we could see and we couldn't stay at school with that there, could we? Anyway, I think the hedges moved or something because when it was over we were all on the other bank of the Seine."

His attention jumped back to father's reflection. There was not much—if anything at all—to his expression.

"It is all over the news," he told him. "You can both see it if you missed that huge mess in the morning. Also, lots of people got lost. M. D'Argencourt included. He went all the way to the _Philharmonie_."

This got a reaction out of father. More than one actually. He was turning. Eyebrows raised. Clearly not working this one out.

"Yeah, we have been all wondering how he got all the way across the city too," Adrien sighed. "Anyway that got fencing cancelled."

There was silence for a moment. One where they stood looking at each other, none knowing what to do. Then father pressed his lips.

"That was— _unfortunate_ , son."

He sounded apologetic. For some weird reason.

"It's not your fault," Adrien sighed, gathering his courage. This truly would have been easier if had just apologized to him and weathered the rest of the storm. He might have just made it all worse to be honest. "And it's not Nathalie's fault I missed my appointment. Or the traffic's. I forgot my phone."

He had expected an explosion. A second speech on being responsible. Being grounded was also not entirely out of the equation come to think of it. What he didn't expect was the silence and the forcibly calmer, if still strict tone, in which father's initial question was repeated.

"Where were you?"

"Marinette's parents."

That on his face—That had been relief, right?

"They are the closest ones to school," he explained feeling suddenly emboldened. "We fled there when that dome thing Ladybug does that fixes everything got rid of the Minotaur and the labyrinth."

To think he had actually managed to mostly stick to the truth while telling this.

"Nathalie just picked us up."

"Us?!"

Okay! That could have come out differently! Or rather it should have not come out like that at all! And worse?! Father was already on the move! Marching for the door to toss it open before him or Nathalie or God for that matter, could stop him. The sequence of—

"Hi!"

"Yo, dude—I mean, Sir!"

"Good afternoon, M. Agreste"

—hitting him in quick succession when his three friends appeared standing in line just outside, making Adrien and Nathalie trade a tense glance. No, this truly was not the best way to announce they were here. This was actually not a way at all! But—

 _Fortune favors the bold, right?_

"Can they stay, Father?"

Well, not all bold. Definitely not Adrien Agreste bold. There was a 'no' coming. He could see it already on father's expression. In the way his eyes kept going over his friends, harsh, disapproving and increasingly cold. He was having none of this. And Adrien was dropping his gaze, Nathalie putting an arm around his shoulders.

"Can I say goodbye to them?"

It was better like this. For him to put an end to it before father took upon himself to do just that and his friends got an even worse impression of him than they already had. Not that he knew why he cared that they did. But he had wanted—He truly had wanted them to like him. To not be just him and Nathalie. To—It didn't matter. He was stepping forward, putting on a smile, Nathalie's fingers closing tight over his shoulder stopping him on his tracks when father looked back, at the two of them, and everything he had been so certain he had been about to say burned before his eyes.

"Come on in."

 _W-What?_

They were entering and–Adrien could have hugged him. He would have hugged him if his friends weren't here. He almost did anyway when despite his open displeasure with having allowed _any of this_ , father still stopped Marinette as she entered the room, putting the measuring tape he had had over his shoulders on her hands.

"Let's see what you can do."

Adrien didn't think Marinette's eyes could get any wider. She stood there gazing at the tape as if she had been given some priceless treasure, voice filled with wonder.

"Really?"

"Unless, you don't want to."

"No! I do! I just–" She raised her gaze, voice dropping almost as if for a confidence. "I have never done this before?"

"Am I expected to answer that?"

A knock on the open door spared Marinette the need to answer that snappish reply. Watching father disappear, closing the door between them and whoever was outside, Adrien stepped away from Nathalie, leaving her arm to silently fall away from his shoulders, and going to stand with Marinette and his friends, eyes pleading.

"He is just messing with you," he said, glancing at the closed door. "He wasn't serious."

"I don't know, dude, he sounded prickly as hell," Nino muttered as the girls looked at each other and Marinette went to twist the measuring tape between her fingers.

"Are you sure?" she asked, uneasy.

He actually _wasn't_. He had no idea. He didn't know father to know that. But—

"Yeah. Please, _please_ don't take it the wrong way?"

 _Please don't hate him_ , was what that had sounded like, but before Marinette could answer father was back, the door slamming behind him, an irritable—

"Invest in a safe."

—being thrown her way, before he actually minded his surrounding and found he had stepped right into the middle of the circle of his friends. Who were all looking up. Expectant. And at him.

"What are you all still doing _here_?" he snapped, a moment of uncertainty giving rise to a tone such that all his friends went to stand as straight as if they were at a military parade. "You two center of the room."

"Yes, Father."

"You two **_out_** of the way."

"Yes, Father—I mean dude! I mean Sir!"

Adrien traded a quick glance with Marinette as she followed him to the center of the room, father's attention still lingering on a squirming Nino as a playfully saluting Alya pulled him to the relative safety of the sitting area, making him sigh.

Either this turned out to be brilliant or a complete disaster.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

The second part will be published in some hours (still today if I can manage it). It is fully written never fear! Just having some details being thinkered around.

Also a big thank to: Bunearybunny, Reminiscent Lullaby and Butterfly582 for their kind comments :)

See you all in the second part!


	3. Medusa - Part 2

**Chapter 2 - Part 2**

 **Gabriel**

"I think I got it," the girl— _Marinette—_ whispered, the uncertainty to her voice making Gabriel step back for a pair of minutes, arms crossed and frowning, before actually leaving her to her own devices and the other half of a jacket he had pinned together in the way of explanation. A half-a-jacket that he was surprisingly curious to know if she could replicate.

"You will tell me if I prick you, right?" he heard her asking, taking some pins from the box on the support table and holding them between her teeth, still studying Gabriel's work. "It won't be on purpose."

"I know, don't worry."

It was like hearing Adrien's voice had reminded her of who exactly was under the black fabric she gazed so intently at. She looked up, face flashing red, the following stuttering and nervous arm waiving leaving Gabriel to roll his eyes and step away from the scene. Or, at least, try to. His wrist exploding with pain forcing him to bite down a sharp intake of breath as he turned back to the duo behind him, face empty of expression, to find Adrien looking between his face and the hand he had reached out to grab.

"Thanks," Adrien ended up saying, quietly, a careful squeeze being given to Gabriel's fingers before he let go.

The gesture, the smile, caught Gabriel so off guard he was still looking back as he stopped on a discreet corner of the room, feeling mesmerized. At least, until Marinette stepped back in sight and he _remembered_. Gabriel's mind immediately sharpened, leaving him to think, to ponder, to weight—Nathalie coming to stand with him, finally bringing him back.

"That was kind of you," she told him and he might have chuckled at how wrong she was if she was at least _looking at him_. "To let them stay."

"It had little to do with kindness and a lot with you glaring."

"I am glad I could be of help."

Still, her eyes avoided him, fleeing to the center of the room and the duo standing there—the girl trying to redo the steps on how to close a sleeve, Adrien taking to speak with the two sprawled on the chairs.

"Is she that good?" Nathalie queried, watching the girl's determined struggle. "Marinette?"

"She is talented."

And the girl would go far if given the opportunity. If she was not ripped apart by the critics or the _press_. Not that he could conceive why this was any the matter right now. It wasn't as if her talent was the reason he had set her aside from the group in the first place.

"I can't be the only one seeing it."

Nathalie frowned, studying the pair in the center of the room. He could see the exact moment the word "Ladybug" flashed through her mind, comprehension leaving her with eyebrows raised.

"That—That _girl_?"

"You have to agree it's an uncanny resemblance."

And put close to his son like this—He watched as she moved around him, completely focused on her work. Yes, he felt he had seen this a hundred times before.

"This can't just be a coincidence."

Nathalie was frowning, squinting, whatever was so wrong to her eyes unclear to his.

"You had seen her before," she finally said, still not sounding like herself. "During the contest. You talked with her. You didn't find anything odd then."

"Well—" His voice hissed with anger. "If I am to be forced into this arrangement by you I might as well find something now!"

He could feel Nathalie recoil at his side, the cold façade crumbling, the underlining current of panic making the Miraculous pulse against his chest as she turned her eyes to him, nervous, to find herself faced, not with fury, but an annoyed look.

"That wasn't funny," she threw at him, glaring back.

"It wasn't meant to be funny."

"With your sense of humor one never knows." She took a deep breath, getting her composure back. "It was not my intention to worry you."

"It was not my intention to force you to apologize, just to get your eyes **_off_** the floor," he snapped. "The last thing I need is you walking on eggshells."

Nathalie blinked, lips parting, but he interrupted her before she could speak.

"And I am not angry at you. Adrien made it quite clear who I should aim that at."

"He—" There was guilt to her voice now. "We scared you."

Gabriel's fingers drummed on the wall behind him. The answer was 'yes' if she truly wanted to know. But he didn't need to be reminded. Of any of it. Not of how empty the house had felt when he had stepped out of the atelier. Not of Nathalie not answering when he had called her. Not of Adrien not being anywhere he could reach him. Not of that gripping terror that had swallowed him with Nooroo's very ill advised choice of words.

 _"They are gone."_

His attention slipped back to the center of the room. To his son as he chuckled at something one of the other kids had said. He still expected him to shatter. For all of this to shatter. Like the rest of his life had. And he would be forever grateful that Nathalie understood it without him having to speak.

"Is this about the book?" she was asking, softly, distracting, calling his attention to something he could occupy his mind with. "Marinette bringing it to you?"

"You have to agree it is odd."

"But not condemnatory," she pointed out, voice carefully lowered. "You have said 'they' can change physical attributes."

His eyes never left the center of the room, but he was no longer seeing it, a memory having overrun the space and left a specter standing with him instead, that of a woman in a long blue dress, a peacock feather fan on her hands. Emilie's golden ghost turned dark.

"She was lying, wasn't she?" Nathalie asked, going to nudge her head at the center of the room, puzzled, when she saw him tense at her side. "Marinette. About how she got the book."

"Half a lie, I gather. But she did keep it."

And he wondered why. And in wondering there was only one reason he could think of. Only one that made sense.

"You aren't convinced," he pointed out, watching Nathalie by the corner of his eyes. "Why?"

"She is hardly the only person fitting Ladybug's description," she offered, sensibly, and looking at her pale blue eyes and black hair Gabriel had to force himself to remain silent. One off that list, he gathered, going back to listening. "Furthermore that girl—she is a bundle of nerves."

It was as if the universe itself had decided to drive her point across. The very tranquil, painless "Auch" coming from his son so startling Marinette she ripped a sleeve off him, ending up giving equally horrified looks to Gabriel—as he raised his eyebrows at her—Adrien—as he tried to calm her down—and the fabric as it laid on her hands.

It wasn't like he hadn't noticed this before.

Yesterday. On the fashion contest she had won, even.

She owned nothing to her nerves.

The other girl, Alya, the one from the Ladyblog or whatever that was called, the one who had the gall to be copying the homework she had just finished onto both his son's and Marinette's notebooks _right under his nose_ —he would overlook that, _just this once_ —was closer to what he had expected. Confident. Brazen. With none of that simple charm her friend had in spades.

Her friend who looked so much like that damned bug.

"It can be a coincidence," Gabriel finally gave in, attention back on Adrien. A part of him did little but wish it to be so. That he was wrong. And yet—

"He is a lot like his mother."

Nathalie's silence as she looked between him and Adrien, lead him to continue.

"I was always so grateful, that he was nothing like me."

"If he was—" Nathalie wondered, quietly. "Would it be that that bad?"

Marinette was still trying to reattach the sleeve, her struggle to reach Adrien's shoulders making him look around, a quick _"Give me a second,"_ seeing him jogging towards the pair near the window, drop behind the chairs to pick something up and reappear with a small stool.

"He is wonderful, isn't he?" Gabriel said, fondly, watching as Adrien offered the stool to the girl and Marinette immediately climbed on it, putting the pins randomly into the sleeve, even now just high enough to be on eye level with him. "I didn't notice him getting that tall."

 _"Is that the only thing you haven't noticed about me?"_ his son's voice threw at him from inside his memory and the sadness he had kept so carefully hidden on hearing it the first time must have showed for Nathalie stepped closer, hand going to rest on his shoulder blade. It was one of the few things that felt real, right now. That made sense. Her warmth and the boy standing at the center of the room.

 _He is taller than you now, Emilie._

Adrien raised both his arms, giving the black haired girl in front of him a playful smile when the left one become stuck half the way up and she bit her lips, moving one finger in a circular motion to tell him to turn, seemingly refusing to step down from the stool.

 _You might want to take a page from that girl's book._

Emilie would have smacked him on the back of the head if she was here to hear that. A part of him still braced itself for it even if he knew it would not come. That he wasn't to see her stroll to the center of the room, to Adrien, and bump the two of them together on their height too. Like she did with everything else, pretending they were alike and loving it.

Every moment of it.

She who was losing it all.

"I just need a moment."

His back come to rest against the door, the lock clicking behind him leaving him standing in the empty corridor, listening to the muffled laughter coming from inside the room, barely able to breathe.

"Master?"

He swapped Nooroo away just as he left the jacket, much too aware of the kwami's presence as he went to float between the nearest water dispenser and one of the many snake plants spread on the corridor. Watching over him. Fear and what could pass for concern battling on his face.

"That is Adrien?" he finally asked, glancing at the closed door, his tone one of gentle curiosity. "The Adrien from the drawing?"

"Shut up."

He did. For once. Not that it was ever meant to last. And that Nooroo's next words were spoken in kindness, that they lacked even the slightest trace of mockery, of the spite he had hoped to catch, to pick apart, to make his own, made them all the more painful to hear.

"He looks like her."

 _I know_.

There was a feeling of warmth on his shoulder when he closed his eyes, the weight telling him Nooroo had just gathered his courage and landed there.

 _I know he looks like her._

It had always been so. From the very first moment. He couldn't look at one without seeing the other. It used to reassure him. It used to comfort him. It used to. Now it was a reminder that he couldn't remember Emilie's voice anymore. That he couldn't remember her laughter—

"Master—"

That he couldn't _remember._

"Please, go back inside."

She was gone.

"They are all waiting for you."

And he was losing what little he had left of her.

"Please, Master, you aren't fine."

The low rumbling of laughter made Nooroo flinch, eyes dropping in resignation as Gabriel stepped away from the door and he was called, the lonely white butterfly that had been on the closest snake plant taking flight to land on his gloved fingers.

He wouldn't have been able to stop, even if he wanted to.

 **Adrien**

"Isn't that screaming or something?" Adrien asked, his and Marinette's triumphant high-five over the now reattached sleeve leaving the two of them with their arms stretched high over their heads, the tip of her fingers slipping distractingly between his as she tilted her head, listening, then turning to him, their arms falling back to their sides.

"I don't hear anything."

They made him blink her words, then look around at Alya and Nino, on the sitting area near the window, and Nathalie, alone and holding one arm against herself, eyes cast down.

"Can't any of you hear _that_?"

All three turned their attention to him, following his gesture as he pointed at the floor, then looking at each other, confused, Adrien's last resort for _someone_ to hear the screams that were so clear to him falling to nothing as he looked around. There was one face missing.

"Where is—?"

 _Father_ , become lost in just about a second, the alarms starting to echo just outside the room, blasting all over the top floor with a vengeance, sending all three of his friends and himself—fighting to take off the jacket and falling behind on purpose so that Plagg could dash out of his bag to get to him—running after Nathalie as she marched for the door.

"Stay there."

She turned the knob. Her stern order clearly not meant for herself for she stepped outside. Alone. Determined. Looking around as the alarms blared. Her blue eyes flew over the water dispensers and snake plants, the lifts in the distance, the doors on both sides of the corridor, the fire escape, before she turned back to find all four of them with their heads sticking outside.

"With me," she ordered, stopping them before they could jump back inside to fetch their bags. "Leave those here, you won't need them."

Green, blue and two pairs of brown eyes looked rapidly at each other. Apprehension flashing through all of their faces as they took to follow Nathalie down the corridor and into the fire escape. Feeling her hand close around his—so tightly she seemed to fear he would disappear into thin air—Adrien found himself walking right beside her, a glance over the bright yellow handrail and into the squared shaped hole in the center of the winding stairs, letting him glimpse a cascade of people getting out from the floors, moving to get to the lobby and outside, before he returned to Nathalie still on time to see her grab her phone, fingers rapidly moving down the contacts to hit father's picture.

He could hear the call disconnect without even getting through. It made his stomach twist.

"Where is Father?" he asked, trying to sound calm. "Why isn't he picking up?"

"He left to speak with his legal team."

That—That was no answer. That was no answer at all!

"Where is he _now_?"

A loud shriek cut through his words. People were running out of the metal door on the landing right in front of them, getting into the stairs, screaming, crying—the reason for their panic made clear the moment the fourth floor door was impaled by a spear-like thing and him and Nathalie came to such a grinding halt they both slipped. Adrien ending up one hand clinging to the handrail and sprawled on the stairs, Nathalie lying further down still and almost on the landing, her hand still holding on to his, eyes gazing at the door as the spear was viciously pulled and it slammed shut, the panic bar moving up and down from the other side, knocking and screaming being heard—until they were no more.

"Run," Nathalie told them, letting go of Adrien's hand. "All of you, now!"

They would not wait for her to say that twice. They run down the stairs, jumping over the golden spear and into the crowd, all stopping to wait for Nathalie only to be nudged into continuing for she hadn't been that far behind. They were moving with the crowd now, down the stairs to the third floor then the second, the shrieks coming from up above turning into screaming from the crowd trying to flee when the door they had left behind was ripped from its socket, clanging and crashing into the floor above as the people around them pushed and pulled in what seemed to be an endless descent, the atrium, the street finally opening before them promising safety from all the madness—

If Adrien wasn't Chat Noir.

And he had to transform. He had to find some way to get away from Nathalie and his friends now that they had seen him safe on the street. That spear back there? If he had any doubts of what was going on before, that had been telling enough! This was Hawkmoth again and for the third time today.

If only Nathalie wasn't holding his hand. Or if this had been his bodyguard with them and not her! He had no trouble leaving him behind. But Nathalie? There was never anything that got passed her!

"Where is Marinette?"

The group looked around just as it left the building, glancing back to the lobby, then to the people around them, the crowd's pushing and shoving pulling them alongside it as more and more people tried to force their way out of the building, wheeling them across the sidewalk and into the road. They could see passed the black butterfly from here, even if it was still hanging menacingly over them. The lights behind it allowing to glimpse those still trapped inside, despite the crowd already here.

It wasn't to any of that they were looking, however. Nor was it at the cars forced to stop in the road due to the people standing in their path. Nor the dozens of terror filed faces around them.

No.

They were looking for a head of raven black hair. They were looking for their friend.

"She was right behind me!" Alya said, the sea of people around them barely allowing any of them to search more than one meter in all directions. "I saw her just now!"

"Now _when_?" Nathalie asked. "Where did you see her?"

"The stairs? Or the lobby… I—I thought she was behind me!"

The crowd was pushing again, forcing them back towards headquarters, closer and closer to the cars parked in front of it as if trying to flee from something other than Hawkmoth and his present victim. Looking back, seeing a series of vans squeal to a stop Adrien understood from what.

The press.

It had already caught wind of this.

Nathalie's hand pressed around his, her eyes also having found the vans and the cameras being unloaded one after the other, her expression hardening. And then something else called their attention. All their attentions. People were pointing up, the cameras rising. Adrien himself looking in time to see the red figure standing on one of the buildings thrown a yo-yo at the iron butterfly and with one easy move jump inside the building.

Ladybug.

 _She is already here?_

And that Alya wasn't taking her phone out spoke volumes about the present state of the group, all of them back to look around, all of them trying to find Marinette among the crowd, Nathalie herself going back to her phone, gazing at it before hitting father's number again.

"Pick up."

Adrien felt as if the ground had opened beneath him. The way her eyes lingered on the building instead of moving over the crowd, saying more than he had wished to know.

"Father is inside?!"

"Control Room."

Oh, that was rich! And it sounded like him alright! Going around like he could control everything! Like—!

Again the shriek cut through his thoughts, deep and penetrating and so loud everyone around them was covering their ears, Nathalie one of the few remembering to look up towards the building just in front of them, her expression one of disbelief before she grabbed him, Alya and Nino and pulled them behind the nearest of the parked cars. Pressing them down and against it. Trying to cover them—not that she would have ever been able to do so if a much bigger shadow hadn't forced the crowd to open and jogged to reach them, putting itself over them.

It made little difference in the end. Looking up, gazing through Alya's brown curls and the car's windows, Adrien could see perfectly what had alarmed Nathalie. The building's glass walls were vibrating under the shriek, moving back and forth in wider and wider arcs… The windows were going to break. No way could they move like that and remain intact.

And break they did. Cracking and snapping and then completely falling apart, glass cascading to the street, raining over them as people screamed and Adrien gazed at the black butterfly, the only thing left of the building's former glory.

 _I have to get in there!_

And he was trying to. He was fighting to rid himself of everyone that was pinning him to this spot. Not even thinking of Plagg. Or Chat Noir. Thinking only of—

"Adrien!"

Nathalie had managed to grab him, the hand that had pulled his wrist now moving to cup his face as he again stood with the group, back under the figure that had protected them and that he suddenly recognized as being his bodyguard, Nathalie's eyes on his.

"Stay here."

Another crash. The sound of more glass falling to the street. His eyes moved back to the building, Nathalie's hand cupping his face harder forcing him back to her.

"I'm serious, Adrien. Stay. _Here._ " Her attention moved to his bodyguard. "I'm contacting security. There is a kid missing."

And she stepped away, a last stern look being given to his bodyguard, before disappearing through the crowd, leaving them to him. It was his chance. He could disappear from under his bodyguard's watch while wearing a blindfold.

 _I'm sorry, Nathalie._

He waited for his bodyguard's attention to move the other way to take a single step back, then crouch and practically crawl through the crowd and away from him, fighting to move passed the sea of people and into one of the nearby alleys.

"That was odd," Plagg uttered as soon as he got outside, looking back towards the crowd over a rubbish bin. "Nathalie was being odd, right?"

"She is afraid I will go back inside to search for Father."

Which he had meant to do. Which he had almost done. Which he intended to do still!

He took his phone out of the pocket—empty, despite father's reassurance just last night—and looked back at the ruined building.

 _Why do you always do this?!_ You _said you wouldn't do this!_

"Adrien?"

"I have to find Marinette and Father."

The staff was shoved into the ground, sending him high up into the air and on top of the nearest roof. Putting the staff over his shoulder, marching up to the other side of the building, while studying the broken windows in front of him, Adrien finally stopped at the third floor, movement inside making a broad grin appear on his face despite his inner turmoil.

Again he extended the staff, sending himself flying over the street and the pointing crowd and cameras. He fell inside the third floor, rolling, feet hitting a fallen table, his momentum causing it to turn and return to the right position, with him on top and a loud crash.

"Hello, _peekaboo_."

He must have scared her half to death just now considering he was laying flat on his stomach a second later, the yo-yo having come close to hit his head.

"Don't do that!" Ladybug reprimanded, pulling the yo-yo back and catching it. "You know you are late, kitty."

"That kind of sums up my day, Milady," Adrien chuckled, what little mirth he had been able to bring forth brought to an end as he took in his surroundings.

The interior of the building looked like a bomb had gone off. All of it was a ruin. Mannequins and ripped clothes lay amidst turned tables and broken sewing machines, but the weirdest of it all? He was standing in a forest of life-sized, very real looking statues.

"What happened here?"

"I don't know," Ladybug said, making the yo-yo circle at her side and looking around, vigilant. "It was like this when I arrived. No way they could be here before, right?"

Adrien jumped off the table. No, this had never been here. He knew this building well. It had been his playground from time to time. The only one he had known with his parents bent on not allowing him outside the house. And approaching the closest of the statues, that of a woman, trying to hide her face, her expression one of terror, he was left with a very uncomfortable sensation.

"Are these _people?_ " he muttered, a shriek coming from somewhere making him raise the staff immediately. "Was that—?"

"The new victim," Ladybug finished. "It has been breaking every single mirror and window on the building." She looked at the statue he too had been studying. "Guess it can petrify people too."

"Have you seen it?"

"Glimpsed through a window when I arrived. When I turned it wasn't there," she said, attention back to him. "It's this half-human, half-snake thing with—"

She never stood a chance of finishing.

"With snakes for hair? And gold wings?"

"How did you guess that?"

He hadn't. And his face had lit up. A soft knock on the back of his mind, father stepping inside his thoughts with that guilt filled expression that meant he was sneaking some story to him that wasn't exactly mother-approved, leaving Adrien standing in his room a lifetime ago, excitement sending him running towards father as he got to his knees, smiling, one hand reaching inside his waistcoat to take out a carefully folded sheet, one where he had drawn something.

 _"I found something you might like."_

He hadn't sounded that confident. He had always sounded apprehensive when he said that and Adrien didn't remember what his drawing had looked like, but angry as he still was at him for having disappeared, he remembered the story and he was grinning like mad.

"Does she look cool?" he asked, grabbing both of Ladybug's hands and looking around. "She must look so cool!"

" _She?"_ If she could have looked more confused. "I—I just saw her through a reflection, I didn't see—"

"Good! Because looking at her is how everyone got like this!"

Ladybug looked around to the statues he was pointing at, eyebrows raised.

"How do you know that?"

"You know it too. Medusa?" She didn't seem to know and he was looking around again. Like one big idiot. "Okay, rule number one. Mostly for me. Don't look at her."

Ladybug seemed to be stuck between trying to look serious and smiling. It was quite the expression on her he might say.

"You are really excited about this."

"Are you kidding? I always loved this myth and now I am in it!" He dropped his voice, leaning closer to her ear. "I actually always wanted the snakes and the turning people into stone powers," he confided in her, stepping back to point at himself. "But Chat Noir is cool too, right?"

In the fight between being serious and smiling, smiling had just won. Ladybug chuckled.

"You're great, kitty."

"So what do we do, Milady?" he asked. "Ideas? How do we fight it?"

"You are the one who knows her."

 _Oh, true._ But he was not the one who came up with the plans here. He was just good at putting her ideas into reality. And it would take him far longer than her to come up with something.

"So," he started, massaging his neck. "Guess you just have to get a mirror or a shield out of your lucky charm?"

"Kind of not how it works," Ladybug said, apologetic.

"Can't harm to try."

And if there was one thing he could say about her was that she did try. And it wasn't a mirror or a shield that fell into her hands. No. It was a frying pan.

"About _that—_ " Adrien muttered, seeing her turning it on her hands. "Considering Cataclysm is really straight forward. How does Lucky Charm work?"

"I am not sure I want to know."

They stepped deeper inside the ruin that was the building's interior. Walking by what seemed to be the same scene over and over again. Fallen mannequins. Ripped clothes. Turned tables. Broken sewing machines. The statues of those caught inside around them—Until something weird caught their sight. A slithering path cutting through it all.

"I think we got her," he said, dropping to one knee near it, vision still clear despite the darkness. Judging by the piled up mess around them, the way it enclosed the space, this was some kind of lair. "We just have to drive her out."

Because it was lying in wait by the looks of it. Which made sense. And it meant they needed something. Maybe a sound? Or—

"Chat?"

He had just found a mannequin between the piled up tables that seemed liable to take the entire thing down—a plan if would ever come up with one. But it was at Ladybug he was looking now, staring into her eyes as she stood behind him in the darkness, the thought that she didn't belong there crossing his mind.

"About yesterday," she said, making him raise his eyebrows. "I'm sorry we—No."

Her expression became harsher, fingers closing tight over the yo-yo. This was probably the more serious she had ever faced him.

"I'm sorry **I** didn't get Hawkmoth's Miraculous. I saw the opportunity but I couldn't move."

He was still on one knee under her, looking up. Was she—Was she answering his question from yesterday? The one she had evaded? He couldn't read her to tell, so he repeated it. And there was more Adrien than Chat Noir in the way he spoke.

"Were you hurt?"

"No. I just... I never meant to hurt _anyone_. I never wanted to hurt anyone. And I didn't know that meant _him_ too." She looked around, to the sea of petrified people. "Even when he is hurting everyone else."

A headshake and she turned back to him.

"I'm sorry."

Adrien tilted his head. Why was he getting the feeling she had been meaning to tell him this the entire day and had just worked enough courage now?

"Why are you apologizing? I'm not angry," he said. He still sounded as far away from Chat Noir as possible. "Did I look angry?"

"I don't think you get angry, Chat."

"Oh, but I do," Adrien stated, lightly. He was utterly furious at father right now, to be honest. And concerned. Not a day had passed and he was back at more of the same! Keeping to himself! Disappearing off the face of the earth and not telling him anything! But none of those things were hers to deal with. So he bottled them up. Nobody needed to know anyway.

"Hey, freezing happens," he finally said.

"It didn't happen to you."

Well no, but it was hardly the first time he hurt someone unintentionally. That was kind of bound to happen in fencing. One ill thought out movement and those sabers showed a lot of conviction in turning into whips. Also—

Adrien pointed at himself.

"Destruction, Milady?" he reminded her. "Probably got that Miraculous for a reason. Like—I'm the destruction to your creation."

Something moved inside the lair in front of them. A low hiss amidst the darkness making them both return to the situation at hand, Ladybug dropping at his side, turning the frying pan so they both were looking at the reflection on it.

"Probably not a good time to tell you I am not a fan of snakes," she said.

"You just have not to look at this one, Milady," he said, pointing at the mannequin he had spotted earlier. "And get that out of there."

And so she did. The yo-yo flying all the way to the blockage to wrap itself around the mannequin's leg, a strong pull bringing the entire structure down, a loud hiss immediately rising in answer and so they were off. Or as off as they could be with a frying pan in their hands and backs turned to the fight. Which was going wonderfully well considering in the first five seconds he had already been sent flying against a table, a spear ripping through it making him roll to the side as Ladybug ran the other way trying to catch the frying pan they both had dropped and that was now rolling away.

First rule of being a Miraculous holder as it seemed? Having a good sense of humor. He doubted anyway could keep at this without one considering how some of these battles turned out. But seriously now, frying pan? They needed a mirror. Something easier to carry. It shouldn't be that hard to find a mirror in here, or a piece of one. This was a fashion brand's building for crying out loud! But the only thing he seemed to be able to find was fabric and useless stuff and broken ceiling lights, grids still hanging from the ceiling and—a figure.

A—A woman and she was walking right into the battle. He knew her. He—

 _Nathalie?_

The Medusa-like victim had clearly seen her too. It was moving to attack. And he was running, grabbing Nathalie by the waist and tossing her to the floor just as the petrifying gaze was turned on her and a kind of invisible wire seemed to give a vicious pull to Medusa. He heard her crash to the floor. Saw the tip of a snake tail contorting in the air. The spear that she had been about to stab them with crashing into the ceiling instead.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?!" Medusa bellowed, trying to get back up, to reach the spear, the ceiling falling around her as Ladybug's yo-yo hit her weapon and sent it all the way across the floor. "Keep out of this, Butterfly!"

Adrien was not staying here to know what _that_ was all about. He was getting up, pulling Nathalie behind him, through the destroyed floor and towards the fire escape. And all the way there he was scolding her.

"You shouldn't be here! What were you thinking?!"

What was father thinking?! Unless he didn't know about this, which meant she had gotten inside of her own accord and he would be scolding her all the way from here to the house. A pity that left no one to scold him! _Control Room!_ Why must he always be like this?!

"Get down there and outside!" he told Nathalie, letting go of her hand and pointing at the closed fire escape door he had just dragged her too. "You can't be here! This is dangerous!"

He was turning his back on her already, bent on rejoining Ladybug, but next moment Nathalie had grabbed his shoulder, the soft pressure making him look back at her. For a moment, with her being here, it felt like being home.

"There is someone missing," she told him and Adrien felt his anger—all of it, even the one at father—completely fall apart. That was why she was here?

"Who is missing?" he asked. He knew what she was about to say. But listening was the least he could do.

"There is this girl. About your age. Black hair. Blue eyes. Her name is Marinette." Nathalie looked around, attention falling on the statues. "She must be somewhere inside."

"I will look for her, okay? Get yourself to safety."

A desk was sent tumbling down behind him and he was off, leaving Nathalie near the fire escape door. He wanted to look back, to make sure that she had heeded his order, that she was leaving, that she was safe before he went back to help Ladybug. He wanted to look back. He really, _really_ wanted to—

But he didn't.

And so he never saw Nathalie standing there, or the way her eyes kept following him until he disappeared.

He didn't see her hesitation as she looked at the destruction around her.

Or the moment she opened the fire escape door and came face to face with the broad shouldered man who was behind it all, who reached for her hand, gloved fingers intertwining with hers, and pulled her much in the same way Adrien had. Away from the fighting. Away from danger. Only this time under the watch of burning blue eyes.

 **Gabriel**

"What were you _thinking_?!" Gabriel snapped, his and Nathalie's footsteps echoing on the winding stairway as they moved down it, the shrieks and hisses and the unmistakable sounds of fighting above them. "How many times have I told you to hide?!"

A dash of red went by his left shoulder, his instinct reaction to defend himself making him raise the cane to counter the attack only to have his mind overrun by the battle on the top floor.

The bug had just come swinging at Medusa, the yo-yo's cable—wrapped around one of the ceiling lights—sending her flying at her, eyes never leaving the frying pan she was carrying, bent, it seemed, at getting onto Medusa's back and catch the necklace holding the akuma.

If that was her intention, however, she failed at it. Spectacularly. And Gabriel was grinning, eyes burning, watching as she did, the reflection she was using for guidance sending her not left but right and straight into Medusa's reach, her tail whipping at the bug sending her flying, against the mannequins, tables, and everything that was broken in the floor. Not that it stopped her. Next moment, the bug was running, fleeing, back out of reach, without Medusa doing _something_.

The butterfly-shaped line lit around his eyes. The connection burning his mind as it was opened further and further.

"They won't be confused _forever_ , Medusa," he snarled at her, attention following the bug as she jumped behind a turned table. "Stop messing around and get those Miraculous!"

The connection snapped shut. Angrily. Violently. And as difficult as it was to move away from the turmoil feeding it and the akuma, he grabbed at this sensation of warmth, a careful pressure on his hand and pushed through until he was back at the fire escape, looking over his shoulder and scowling at Nathalie.

"What are you doing?" he demanded to know, eyes on the undisturbed bright blue ones raised to look up the stairs, then dropping to face him. "What got into your head to be here?!"

"I lost one of the kids."

They came to such an abrupt halt she rammed into his back. The terror her words had given rise to making him turn on his heels, towards Nathalie, dreading what she might say, just as something darker pulled at that part of him that still was—and maybe had always been—the Collector, this deep feeling of betrayal invading his mind as the connection opened ever so slightly and he saw the cat.

He didn't know what it was Nathalie was seeing, right now. If his fear or his fury. It mattered not. She was here. And she had always understood either way.

"Adrien is outside," she informed, words making a shiver of relief go down his back, his eyes closing. "He is fine."

"And your lost lamb?"

"Marinette."

Nathalie would have crashed into his back again if they were still on the move. His eyes were on hers, searching them, probing them, trying to find an answer there.

"That girl…" His hand closed tighter over hers, a feverish urgency to his voice. "That was before or after the bug appeared?"

"Before."

"Truly?" A nasty grin spread through his face. "So she does fit."

The connection was ripped open again. On the other side, the destroyed floor was no longer in view. Instead, the open night sky was around Medusa, the city's illumination shining under her as she slithered out of the building and onto the iron butterfly's wings. The bug was under her and banging the pan against the metal. The cat taking advantage of the distraction it provided to drop from overhead, right hand seeming to be boiling.

It missed by inches. And they were both retreating now, the cat and the bug, a black and a red bolt, down and back inside the building through the broken windows, splitting once there, the mostly undisturbed floor seeing them disappear amidst the work stations, and mannequins and pined drawings of clothes.

"Leave Ladybug," Gabriel ordered, icily, the bug distinctive red clothing appearing and disappearing behind the different stations' divisions. "Concern yourself with Chat Noir. He has activated Cataclysm. It will initiate that Miraculous countdown when it hits something. Make sure it does. And get that ring the instant the transformation wears off."

An irritated hiss was his answer. The nearest mannequin being whipped to the ground by a scaly tail. She was on the move again, dropping to slither close to the floor, going by table legs, and chairs and discarded pieces of fabric. Searching. Hunting—

"You know, keeping an eye on the sky is normally a good move," a good-humored voice said from above. "You know, where the _cats_ are?"

It came to a matter of reaction. Of willpower against agility. A black figure dropping from up above making Gabriel shove the cane into Nathalie's hands, then reach out for the akuma and twist Medusa out of the way just as the cat landed right where she had been, then strain the connection to reach out to grab his ankle, just like he had done the day prior, trying to keep him from fleeing. This time the cat didn't fall for it, he escaped. And the connection became too strained to be kept, slipping through Gabriel's fingers, as Medusa regained control over her body.

"Stop doing that, Butterfly!" she ragged, tossing her spear to the air and grabbing it before aiming it at the cat. It ripped through the table he had just dived behind, the alarmed **"Chat!"** coming from the opposite side of the room, giving away Ladybug's present position, making the cat raise his arms.

"I'm fine!"

And he was jumping out of cover as if to prove it, using the staff to back-flip over Medusa and rejoin the bug.

"Found a mirror!"

The announcement made Gabriel clench his fists, watching them again flee, Medusa in pursuit.

A mirror.

"He knows. That cat knows."

"Knows?" Nathalie's voice came to him. He couldn't see her. Her words were a mere whisper in his mind, but without the soft pressure of her hand one real enough to remind him he was not alone. Not this time. "What about?"

"Medusa. The cat knows about her."

And how old was he anyway? Fourteen, fifteen? Was this common knowledge? Something of no value to be discarded? For he only knew of a fifteen year old who would know this.

"Your son is outside," Nathalie said, calmly. "I left him there."

And he had kept nothing of what he had been thinking to himself, as it seemed. Unsurprisingly. Such was the joy of this Miraculous of his. He couldn't hear himself think over the connection and the images blasting inside his mind. Not unless he spoke. And the cat was not making Gabriel hearing himself any the easier.

"No hard feelings or anything, I'm normally on your side!" the cat was shouting, running alongside Ladybug and gesticulating as if he could feel Gabriel's derision through Medusa's glare. "No, not yours! Hers!"

"Why are you telling them that?" Ladybug queried, flabbergasted. "Does she need to know?"

"How many times do you think I will meet Medusa— _Yikes!_ "

The spear had just been thrown at them, flying by as they rolled in opposite directions and Gabriel snarled at the entirety of the scene.

What was the problem with this feline?! Did he take pleasure on acting like an idiot?! On being seen as one?! This was ridiculous! This—

 _This is not you, cat! You had claws yesterday!_

And the feeling of betrayal was taking hold of him again, burning like a festering wound. Was this Adrien? Was it liable to be him with this behavior? He would expect better of him than this silliness, this utter nonsense! This was not the quiet boy he saw from time to time. It was not the one who once used to fill the house with laughter. The one he had known. The one who had came running to him, chuckling and smiling, and tossing his arms around his neck to look with pure delight at whatever he had been doing. The one—The son he missed dearly, even if he was no longer a father he could run to anymore.

"When you say _outside_ —" Gabriel growled, speaking to his side, to Nathalie, now a blue-eyed smear in his vision. "Who exactly is there?"

"His bodyguard."

Oh yes, speak of reliability made flesh.

"I hired that man because he can fight his way through a crowd, not for his intellectual brilliance. Adrien could run circles around him when he was three. _Now?_ " he fumed, Nathalie was becoming clearer, steadfast and composed and undisturbed by his ongoing rant. "And you say somehow that girl managed to run passed you?"

"If she is Ladybug, she did a brilliant job. Both of disappearing and pretending to be arriving," she acquiesced, the shriek echoing behind her words, making the building shake, seeing her stern tone become kinder. "But if she isn't Ladybug? If she is here? Trapped inside with that thing?" she pointed out. "She is Adrien's age. She is his friend."

Her eyes had never left his, never wavered. They didn't even as he spoke.

"You say that like it should make a difference. Like I care." he observed. There was an honest bewilderment to his words. More honesty to his rebuttal. "I don't."

"You will."

She had more faith him than he ever would.

"I didn't attack that girl," he heard himself say, a rare calm to his voice. "Unless she is that bug, she is either well hidden or not here at all. And I would prefer for you not to be here either—"

There was a sudden pull at his mind. Urgent. Anxious. Alarmed. He would have hated Nooroo even more for the interruption, for daring to interfere, if it wasn't for what he showed him. He was pulling Nathalie behind him the next moment, ripping the sword out of the cane she was carrying just as Medusa's spear blasted through the door and he was forced to defend himself.

"Go up!"

The spear sank into the wall on the opposite side of the stairs, shaking in place as he grabbed at the connection again, the stairway disappearing as he moved to follow Nathalie, and for a moment, seeing through Medusa's eyes he could make no sense of what she thought she was doing for she was outside. Going up the iron butterfly and into the top floor. The doors being thrown down one after the other.

Storerooms. Fitting rooms. Offices.

Empty. Empty. EMPTY.

Where was that—?!

A last door was broken down. The one to the room he had been in prior with Nathalie and the kids. Inside, the cat was moving away from the bags, feet making the broken glass snap as he stepped backwards towards the window, eyes firmly closed, a step too many making him lose his balance and look down. The city lights were behind him. His right hand still boiling from Cataclysm.

"Where is Ladybug, Medusa?" Gabriel bellowed. Where was that bug?! "Search for her!"

She turned, tail crashing on top of the fitting room on one of the corners, destroying it entirely, then turning to look around, the cat getting back into view.

"So, are you an employee here?" he asked, something weird to the way he was standing making Gabriel squint, then scowl as he continued talking, somehow managing to point straight at Medusa even with his eyes closed. "I really can't tell with all of _that_ going on."

Medusa hissed.

"Don't get me wrong! It's like the coolest thing ever! Thing is everyone down there has this nice ensemble, wondering if it is under that too."

He was looking back again, towards the street, eyebrows raised. Something in the way he kept his left hand out of sight made Gabriel practically snarl.

"He is hiding something," he said. "Whatever it is destroy it."

"I am tired of your orders, Butterfly!"

Next to the window the cat chuckled.

"Oh! Is he bossy?" he asked, turning back to Medusa, eyes closed. "Hawkmoth, I mean. I bet he is bossy! By the way, can he listen to what I say or just to you? Because I mean, this is some seriously cool Greek theme he has going on today. You know minus the destruction and the mayhem and the all around terror—But back on topic, if you work here this is seriously such a bad idea. I mean think of the huge mess you are getting into!"

"Focus, Medusa!" Gabriel snarled. "Stop listening to him!"

"Shut up!"

The cat raised his eyebrows.

"That was with me or with him?"

"He is acting as bait!" Gabriel snapped. "Look for Ladybug!"

"I told you to shut up!"

"Still don't know who should do that!" the cat sighed and it seemed to be the last provocation, Medusa moved to attack and, a huge grin filling his face, the cat jumped. Out into the vacuum, rotating mid air to shove the staff on the iron butterfly and sending himself straight into the fourth floor.

And his idiotic servant?

Medusa was mindlessly going after him, slithering down the butterfly's wings, passed the cat's abandoned staff and back inside the building.

"Stop following the—!"

It came into view then. The bug. The bug and the frying pan. A frying pan he understood what the purpose was the instant the cat dropped behind Medusa and what he had been hiding become clear. A camera. He raised it, aimed at the pan and pressed the button.

Gabriel grabbed the handrail, stumbling to his kn _ees,_ pure instinct making him cover his eyes rather than just close them, Nathalie's footsteps running back to get to him, her hands holding his shoulders. For a moment, he thought he was blind. There was nothing around him other than this whiteness left by the flash. And then something cracked, the soft flapping of wings echoing around him. The connection still there as the akuma tried to get away, to flee back to him… and he got sight of the bug and the cat for a last second, bumping their fists, voices rising triumphant amidst all the destruction—Nathalie and himself not that far behind their backs.

" ** _Hold._** "

"Hold?" Nathalie looked at him, eyes fleeing from the broken door at their side and from a pair he was sure, from the way she held his shoulders, she too could see, a single glance to the stairs as he picked her up, enough for her to understand. "No— _Wait!_ "

He had jumped and Nathalie's arms wrapped around his neck, tightening as they fell, her face hiding on his shoulder. It took seconds for them to land on the lower floor and retreat under the stairs, away from view, where he put her down. Or he would have, if her legs hadn't given up under her and left him to drop to his knees and lower her to sit in the first step of the stairs. From where she looked up. One hand covering her mouth as she took in the drop.

"That—"

He never knew what she meant to say. If anything at all. He was clenching his bruised right hand, pure frustration aiming it at punching the ground and she jumped forward the same instant, to stop him, both hands grabbing his, pulling it to her, hugging it to her chest, protectively, as the transformation collapsed and the white butterflies surrounded them both.

Gabriel's attention went from her hands to her eyes.

"You came in here—" He sounded utterly bewildered. " _Why?_ "

Her eyes met his, then dropped as did her hands.

"I have to find Marinette."

And she got up, walking outside, disappearing in the lobby, the pink light fixing the building following in her wake as Nooroo rose from behind Gabriel, tilting his head at her back.

The Miraculous seemed to be burying itself in Gabriel's chest.

It was the only answer he would get.

 **Adrien**

"You did it again," Adrien grumbled in a low voice, right hand waving at Marinette as she got inside the bakery with her mother and was immediately ambushed by her father, the share difference of size between the two making it seem like she might break, like a twig, as he spinned around with her near the counter. "Why didn't you say something? You promised you would."

Attention breaking from the Dupain-Chengs to look at his own father, finding him dropping his eyes from Marinette being squeezed in a bear hug—some sort of emotion Adrien couldn't quite understand on his face—Adrien tried to catch his eyes, fighting for a moment of his time, for his attention, for some kind of answer.

"Father?"

A gust of wind broke through the street, cold and biting now that night had fallen. Shivering, Adrien rubbed his arms, something warm being put over his shoulders—A piece of blue fabric. Father's jacket, Adrien recognized—leaving him staring at father's back just his fingers stroked his hair and he moved passed him, walking to the cars.

He was—He was actually paying attention, so why wasn't he answering?

"You were not turned into stone, were you?"

The question seemed to take an eternity to get to its destination, when it finally broke through to wherever father's mind was, however, one might think he had just offended him.

"What?" he snapped, stopping and turning beside Nathalie, who was waiting for them near the second car. "No!"

"Are you sure?" Adrien insisted, tilting his head at him.

"I think I would have noticed if that had happened."

"Because if you were, nobody is going to think less of you."

"I wasn't turned into stone, Adrien!"

"I was just asking!"

Their voices, suddenly locked in the exact same snappish tone, faded into the night, a car going by, music blasting, leaving Gabriel glaring daggers at it as Adrien's voice went back to a quiet inquisitive tone.

"So… Did you forget?"

"Car."

Nathalie stepped forward, moving to open the backseat door before father could reach for the handle. Sliding inside, moving all the way to the other end of the backseat, Adrien looked back, watching as father followed him inside and Nathalie closed the door.

There was something weird going on here. This was not remotely part of her job.

"Is something wrong?" he queried, eyes studying father's face as he massaged his temples. "Are you alright?"

"Tired."

Adrien could see that. He had been visibly fighting not to slump in the car seat just now, to keep his eyes open, but he had been normal, for lack of a better word, for most of the night. And considering headquarters being destroyed by Hawkmoth and then restored by Ladybug, he actually had been pretty decent—except for that part with the confidentiality agreements he had shoved in front of his friends. That was… He didn't even know what _that_ was. Other than father being father.

Rigth now, however, Adrien was concerned that he had just been putting up an act and that with Alya, Marinette and Nino gone, with it being just the two of them and Nathalie, he saw no further reason to pretend anymore.

"Try not to crash into the gates," father told Nathalie, his voice completely devoid of energy, as she hit the ignition button and his attention slipped outside. Back to the Dupain-Chengs—all three of them waving from inside the bakery as the two cars joined the almost inexistent traffic—and then at the city as it started to go by.

"Father?"

He seemed to have forgotten he was here. With him in the car. And taking advantage of a red traffic light, Adrien slid to the middle seat, right next to him. Trying to catch something on his face. To understand what was going on. Instead, he saw him holding his right wrist.

"Is something wrong with your hand?"

He was going to give a heart attack to someone today. First, Ladybug. Now, father. Father having the advantage of not being liable to throw a yo-yo at his head. In fact, having turned to find him sitting at his side, he seemed stuck on looking between him and the seat he had been originally at, clearly trying to figure out how he had moved without him noticing. At least, before something far more urgent crossed his mind and he snapped his attention downwards, towards the seatbelt, making sure Adrien had it on.

Honestly, as far as distracting him went, this one was the best Adrien could ever hope for and he was not missing the opportunity. He reached out for father's right arm, raising it to his eyes, what was going on underneath the white sleeve making his stomach turn.

"How did this happen?!"

It seemed to finally wake father this. And by that he meant he tried to get away from him, Adrien's refusal to let go, leaving them locked in this weird tug-of-war in the backseat, before the fight ran out of father and he turned back to the window and the city, to the lights going by, to the people still walking on the streets.

"I have no idea," he said, in the same exhausted tone he had used to address Nathalie. "It was like this after Selene returned to normal."

"Selene?"

It took Adrien a moment to get there. To remember that had been Wailer's real name. To get back at the mind controlled crowd the night before. And for his mind to take a sudden turn. To an abandoned building and a masked man rising above him, rapier in hand. To a yo-yo crashing into his wrist.

 _"He fits,"_ Ladybug's voice insisted, rising from the same exact place in his mind as the wave of disbelief that left him rotted on spot, gazing at father's bruised wrist, before something else came to mind and relief let him breathe again.

The Collector.

Hawkmoth had attacked father.

 _It can't be him_ , he told himself, tone becoming more forceful. _It isn't him._

And that meant there was only one thing that mattered here. Only one.

"This has been like this since _yesterday_?!"

There. That was what _actually_ mattered. And looking up to face father's dull blue eyes, Adrien was completely incredulous.

"Why isn't it bandaged?! Haven't you gone to a—?!"

"For the last time, I am not going to a hospital."

"The _last_ time?"

He looked at the front seat, eyes meeting Nathalie's through the rear view mirror. So, she knew. And had tried. If she hadn't been able to do anything, he didn't even want to know what tenuous chance he got at achieving anything. Go figure why he didn't just give up.

"Can you work?" Adrien asked, going back to the wrist, father grimacing when he tried to turn his arm, making him immediately stop. "Sorry. Seriously though, can you draw with this?"

"It's hardly life threatning."

Really? That was his reasoning?

Adrien gave him back his arm, leaning forward to get between the two front seats, attention raised towards Nathalie.

"Is there a hospital nearby or something?"

" _Adrien,_ " Father hissed.

"If it was with me you would drag me there!" he tossed to the back, turning to look at him to find him with his arms crossed.

"That is different," father replied. And there, _there_ was the sigh and the slight eye roll.

"How?"

"I am your father."

"Well, I am your son."

And there was a glare. Not only at him, but also at Nathalie. It failed on both fronts. Nathalie was still looking politely amused at their exchange as _La Tour Eiffel_ appeared in front of them and the car started going around les Champs de Mars, following behind the one driven by his bodyguard. Meanwhile, Adrien—

No, he was not letting go of this any time soon.

"You can't go around with your hand like this," he insisted.

"I won't be _'going around'_ with anything," father retorted, starting to sound annoyed. "I don't intend to make leaving the house a habit."

"Well, you can't go around the house like this either," he replied, back to his seat and pointing father's attention from the approaching _Tour Eiffel_ to his own arm. "That looks awful. It must feel awful. What if it gets worse?"

And he didn't want to think what that entailed. Not that father seemed to care. And why?

"It will be fine tomorrow."

Adrien could do little but press his lips. There was 'why'. Always the same rebuttal. Some things never changed.

"Do you remember that time when I twisted my ankle while fencing?" he heard himself say, arms crossed. "Like three years or something ago?"

A deep sigh and father was back at massaging his temples.

"I would have a great deal of difficulty forgetting that," he grumbled.

"Yeah, me too," Adrien grumbled back. "I failed second place because of it."

Father blinked, seeming to have been thrown off course as he _finally_ turned to look at him. Then, he shook his head. Priorities, he seemed to be thinking. Which was rich coming from him.

"What has this to do with anything?" he sighed.

"It won't be fine in the morning."

Now it was father who was pressing his lips.

"I am not going anywhere near a hospital, Adrien."

"Why?" Adrien insisted. "What is your problem with hospitals?"

"I have no problem with hospitals, I just won't have the press descend on us like a band of ravenous—"

There was a sudden flare of light. White, bright, illuminating the interior of the car like it was day. Both of them stood there for a moment, looking at each other. Adrien's immediate certainty that Hawkmoth was up to something— _again_ —being shaken to its core when the first flare gave way to a second one, then another and another, and both of them looked outside to find the street packed with cameras, the house's walls barely visible behind them.

"The vultures are back," father immediately scoffed, turning to Nathalie. "Keep driving."

There was more than just hesitation to the way she bit her lower lip in answer. And the car was slowing down, the red tail lights of the one his bodyguard was driving threatening to disappear between the already closing crowd as she looked back at father.

"We are going to run over someone."

He raised his eyebrows, a sort of cruel amusement bringing a smirk to his lips. The reply, when it came, was glacial.

"That will give them something to write about."

Nathalie's hands closed tighter over the wheel, the car gaining momentum again. She looked as out of her depth as Adrien would ever see her. He didn't know why that scared him. He just knew of the madness going on outside. There were cameras hitting the windows. Muffled questions being tossed at them. Flashes.

Nathalie was right, no matter how dismissive father got over this situation. They were going to run over someone. There was no way this was going to end without someone getting hurt. And he couldn't take his eyes off it. Off any of it. He kept watching as the crowd went by, one hand clinging to father's hand, the opening iron gates coming closer and closer. Then, finally, the arch went over them.

They were inside now. In the courtyard. Peebles crunching under the wheels as the cars circled it and stopped in front of the stairway. Sliding out of the backseat behind father, flashes raining over them, Adrien immediately went for the stairs, a sudden pull at his arm making him look back.

"Father?"

He was not following. The harsh expression that had taken hold of his face as he looked at the iron gates the crowd fighting to get a clear shot of them was not allowing to close, the way his eyes followed Adrien's bodyguard jog across the courtyard to solve the situation, making Adrien pull at his arm fearing he intended to stay here—then sigh when he moved, following him and Nathalie inside.

It was just the three of them now. Him, Nathalie and father. His bodyguard still outside and fighting the crowd. And they remained here, in the hallway, for what seemed to be like an eternity. Him still holding father's hand. Nathalie to their right, attention outside. Both waiting, until father made a sudden turn for the atelier, taking them both in tow.

"Is _that_ necessary?" Nathalie asked, voice following him, quiet and matter-of-fact, eyebrows knitted. "It might just make things worse."

"Worse?" father repeated, not looking their way. "They put us through hell last time. They can't do worse."

The atelier door was opened, the lights turning on around them as father went for the console making Adrien's hearth give a jump, finally understanding what Nathalie had been on about.

"Father, wait!"

His fingers were already flying over the display, moving over the house's blueprints that were so clear to Adrien as he stood with him near the console.

"Father!"

He was not listening and the entire house had come to life. There were steel shutters rolling to cover the windows, locks echoing all around them and Adrien found himself taking an instinctive step behind father, hand tightening around his.

"Keep everything locked," he heard him tell Nathalie. "No one enters this house and no one leaves."

Nathalie nodded, undisturbed, and took one of the communicators on the wall with her as she stepped outside.

It was just the two of them here now. The silence left in the wake of the house going on lockdown seeing Adrien's forehead come to rest against father's arm.

"Please, Father," he still whispered, pleading. _I don't want to be locked in here._

He could not bring himself to say it. He just couldn't. So, he forced out the only thing that could make this house feel less like a prison.

"Can I still go to school?"

"I believe we already discussed that _yesterday_."

The answer had been angry, snappish, but still it was a yes. A 'yes', even if father didn't seem to be here anymore. Even if somewhere between the car and the house, he had lost him. And so Adrien stepped away, out of the atelier, into his room and curled into bed. Plagg coming to rest not on the opposite side of it as he used to but at his side, using his arm as a pillow, leaving him looking at the kwami for an instant.

"He is not locking you in here so everything is alright, isn't it?" Plagg said as if there wasn't anything abnormal in his behavior, taking to watch Adrien as he pointed the glass wall's command at it and pressed the buttons, trying to make it open. "He kept his word, right?"

"Guess so."

Adrien laid down, Plagg wiggling himself happily under the sheets alongside him, only to frown.

"Are you cold?"

He wasn't. That was not why he was shivering. But putting the glass wall command on the bedside table, he reached for the pile of clothes he had dumped at the foot of the bed all the same, pulling father's light blue jacket out.

He would still be huddled under it when morning arrived.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

The second part as promised. Hope you all liked it! And that was worth the wait :)


	4. The Painted Lady - Part 1

**Adrien**

Adrien was watching the clock, attention following the ticking seconds pointer as it went around the display, his frown getting deeper and deeper at each passing moment.

It was 6.15 p.m. right now, the TV was on and the telltale piece of flying cheese arching over the sofa said quite clearly Plagg really wasn't that concerned with the fact both of them were running late _—_ _ _again__. Still, and despite how much being late haunted his mind, Adrien sat at his desk, the Miraculous he had on his finger gleaming pure white under the light of the desk lamp, this prickling sensation going up his finger leaving him eyebrows knitted and waiting. Waiting for _—_

" _ ** _Ouch!_**_ "

Adrien jerked his hand at the stab, hitting the lamp in the process, the fact that he had been waiting for this for quite some time doing exactly __nothing__ for how much it hurt or, Adrien might add, for how confused he got once he picked his mechanical pen and wrote down the time at the end of this long sequence at the edge of the page. This long sequence of times he had hoped would bring him some clarity _—_ and that made no sense at all.

"Really, what is __wrong__ with you?" Adrien asked the Miraculous, the music from an ongoing car commercial slightly muffling his words as he raised the ring to the light and pulled it slightly out of his finger. The skin under it was unblemished. Just like nothing had happened. "If you want to tell me something, I'm listening."

He stared at the Miraculous after that. Studying it. Trying to coach some answer out of it. The realization of what he was doing, that he was trying to get some kind of clarity out of a piece of __jewelry__ , leading Adrien to drop his head on the desk, cheek going to rest on his math textbook, the prickling sensation again going up his finger making him sigh.

Really, some times it was a good thing he was left mostly alone. It would be quite something to justify what he was doing talking to a __ring__ if anyone had been here. However, just for the sake of having a try at justifying this _—_

Adrien took a deep breath, sat up straight and stopped, crossing his arms.

Okay, this was difficult to justify even to himself. And it was not that much better to look at Mom's photo and try to tell her. So to look at the ceiling, to these colorful shadows the car commercial was painting all over his room, and _—_

"My Miraculous has gone insane," he confided to the slowly approaching night. "It's trying to bite my finger off."

It felt releasing to say that. Even if no one was hearing. Even if there was no one to help. Even if it didn't even scratch at the surface of what was going on. The truth was that ever since that mess with Medusa back at __Gabriel__ 's headquarters one week ago, ever since waking up the next morning still wrapped on Father's jacket, Adrien's Miraculous had been behaving weirdly. The prickling sensation he could feel right now following him everywhere he went. The periodic stabs driving him insane. This tingling sensation on the back of his mind filing him with concern. He had brought this to Plagg, of course, but _—_

A new piece of cheese arching on the other side of the sofa made Adrien sigh.

"Don't worry about it!" Plagg had said some two days prior and while stuffing his mouth full with Camemberg. "That happens to every holder! It will stop soon enough!"

 _ _It hadn't stopped.__ If anything it was getting worse. But _—_ another stab to his finger made Adrien study the Miraculous _—_ if there was nothing he could do about this, then maybe Plagg was right and it really was better not to linger on it. As things were, there were a ton of more urgent things he better focus on right now. And those started with _—_

Adrien went back to the clock, the mechanical pencil he still held on his fingers going to tap on the math exercises as he nodded at himself.

"Half past six," Adrien said, determined. " _ _Allons-y.__ "

The mechanical pen was put down. The distinctively feminine left-handed writing that peeked from the midst of his own penmanship _—_ the same one that said he hadn't spent the entire afternoon alone with his math studies _—_ getting a somewhat remorseful glance before Adrien hit the lights, grabbed the deodorant that had been inconspicuously sitting on his desk, and practically glued himself to his bedroom wall, sneaking towards the door, his hand doing this very slow job of turning the handle before he peeked into the atrium.

It was already dark down there. Darker still with all the chandeliers being off and the sun having made its way below the buildings on the other side of the house. Nothing of that really mattered, however. In fact, Adrien's attention remained still very much inside his bedroom. And he listened. Waited. Tried to figure out if _—_

"What are you sneaking around for?" Plagg queried, excited, his head appearing over Adrien's shoulder as he too went to peek into the atrium. "What is going on? I want to be part of this too!"

An ominous grin flashed across Adrien's face. _ _Well, well, well.__

"Don't worry," Adrien purred, while closing the door, finger moving to the firing position on the deodorant he was hidding against his chest. "You are a huge part of this."

"Great! So what is _—_?"

Plagg turned to him, bright green eyes immediately doubling in size.

" _ _A–Adrien?"__

It was not the most dignified of noises that made it through Plagg's lips after that, Adrien turning on him, grinning like a maniac, the words __Axe Body Spray__ shining menacingly from the can on his hands, seeing the kwami flee into the bedroom, a scented cloud of deodorant blasting behind him.

"My natural musk!" Plagg screeched as he went, running his hands over his black fur, smelling them and almost causing Adrien to trip over his own feet when he came to a screeching halt."Oh, I like that one! It's cheese scented!"

" _ _Cheese scented?"__

Comprehension hit them both at the same time. Plagg's pleased expression giving way to horror as Adrien started to sprint full speed, deodorant at the ready.

"Get back here, Plagg!" he shouted, following after the again fleeing kwami, both of them going over the bed, then across the room, then by the pinball machines and fencing posters and climbing wall, clouds of scented air left in their wake. "Stop running away!"

"Not in your dreams!"

"Chat Noir _—_!"

"Smells delicious!"

Adrien rammed straight into the piano at Plagg's exclamation, the kwami's sharp turn making him vault and dive head first on top of the soundboard.

"Oh, yes! __Delicious!"__ Adrien tossed at Plagg, voice muffled by being almost upside down, a glance around the room once he managed to get his feet back on solid ground, showing him this black bolt going over the cheese plate near the TV, hands grabbing hold of a slice, small teeth sinking right into it.

"Plagg!" Adrien exclaimed, outraged, and running his way. "Stop it! Ladybug must be thinking I live in a cheese factory!"

"That's the dream!"

Adrien jumped over the sofa's back, a snort robbing him of both breath and momentum as he landed on the pillows.

"I'm serious, Plagg," he nevertheless managed to wheeze, jumping back to the floor to see the kwami peeking from behind the TV. "Come here. And stop __hugging__ that cheese!"

Plagg gave him a deeply offended look, holding the cheese closer as he rose a few centimeters over the large TV.

"This is what gives me my natural musk!" he said and Adrien could but press the bridge of his nose.

" _ _Le Pavin d'Auvergne__ is not your natural __anything__ ," he rebutted while trying to find an angle from which he could spray Plagg _—_ which, by the way, would be a lot easier if he would just. Stay. Still! "You are just making this harder on yourself!"

"No, I'm not!" Plagg replied, still evading Adrien's efforts.

"Three seconds, Plagg!" Adrien announced, going to raise his fingers. "One. Two _—_ "

Adrien jumped forward before he finished the countdown, trying to reach Plagg over the TV and then running after him, spraying now stop, as Plagg fled to the right.

"I thought you were studying!" Plagg shrieked while forcing Adrien to run up the spiral stairs to the room's top floor. "Why aren't you studying?! Where is Nathalie?!"

"She went down!" Adrien announced, sprinting after him, Plagg diving for the ground floor right when Adrien was in the middle of the upper floor's walkway leaving him and the kwami to shout at each other over the railing whilst Adrien ran all the way back down. "Also! Nathalie said that what I didn't learn during the afternoon wasn't magically starting to make sense during the night! So I'm done!"

"Nathalie said __nothing__ about allowing you to terrify a poor kwami with your father's __cologne!__ " Plagg shot back, looking everywhere for an escape. "It is disappearing fast enough with you using it!"

"This is not Father's __cologne!__ " Adrien retorted while reaching the bottom of the stairs, eyes locked on to his already fleeing target. "I bought something just for you!"

"Why does that sound like a threat?!"

"Stop running away!"

Adrien finally managed to corner Plagg between his desk and bed after a few more moments of running, skidding, falling and avoiding the piano, the grin again taking over his face leaving Plagg to cower against the wall.

"Do you __really__ want to do this?" he shrieked, staring down the Axe Body Spray that was being pointed straight at him. "Really __really__ want to do this?"

"I am rather sure I do," Adrien panted, finger back in firing position. "Now, hold still _—_ "

"I didn't mean __this!"__ Plagg cut through in desperation. "I meant __that!"__

A tiny finger pointed straight behind Adrien. Towards where the TV was. Towards this lively voice that was filling the room. Towards the images of Ladybug, Chat Noir and this young reporter that always accompanied the now familiar announcement. Plagg pointed away from __himself__ and against his best judgment Adrien __looked__. He looked for no more than a pair of seconds, but it was all that it took. The moment he turned back, Plagg was gone.

"Plagg!" Adrien groaned, despaired, but it was the same as nothing. Nadja's voice had drowned his. It rose triumphant on his bedroom, covering all other sounds.

" _ _Tonight, for the first edition of__ 'Face to Face' __you will have the opportunity of a lifetime!"__ she announced. " _ _The chance to talk live with Ladybug and Chat Noir along with me, Nadja Chamack. We will be revealing some sizzling hot revelations about your favorite superheroes—__ "

Adrien hit the mute button on the command, shaking his head as he hanged head down over the back of the sofa. He couldn't believe he had just fallen for this!

"Plagg, please, come out," he now pleaded, raising his head to look towards the carefully made bed and the desk that lied somewhere under his math studies. "The two of us are _**_not_**_ going to national television smelling like that!"

"It's TV!" Plagg retorted, his croaky voice coming from _—_ _ _Somewhere__. "Nobody can smell Chat Noir on TV!"

Adrien crossed his arms.

"I don't care!" he stated, looking around his room. "And I wouldn't have to resort to this if you hadn't fled from the bath!"

"Kwamis are not meant to take baths!"

"I'm rather sure they aren't meant to roll around in cheese either!"

Adrien could have just sworn he had heard something like _"_ _ _Shows what you know"__ being thrown his way but _—_

"Please come out," he begged. "This is serious!"

"Of course, it's serious," came the incorporeal reply. "Ladybug and Chat Noir giving an interview on prime time... Is it just me or that sounds like the worst idea ever?"

Adrien tossed the TV remote he still held on his hands back to the sofa. It jumped on the pillows as Adrien turned back and forth, and then finally shook his head.

"Ladybug wants to reassure the city that we are doing our best to stop Hawkmoth," he justified, starting to make his way to search the cabinets next to his bed. "She wants everyone to know we will stop him."

"Oh yes," Plagg scoffed. "We go up on television and _—_ _ ** _Wait!_**_ Are we __provoking__ Hawkmoth into attacking?"

Adrien was brought to a halt with the pillows from his bed one on each hand, deodorant held between his neck and chest.

" _ _What?__ " he stuttered, mind taking a few seconds to connect the dots on what Plagg had just said. "No!"

"Oh… I thought we might be trying to make him step out in the open or something," Plagg mused, disappointed. "Turns out this is really just a very bad idea."

Adrien rolled his eyes, making his way back across the room, to the glass wall, and looked up, making sure Plagg wasn't speaking from the other side of the open panel before peeking outside.

The lights in the small back garden were already on, washing a pale light over the path, the pale marble statue of Mother and the large white tomcat deep asleep on its lap. Plagg, however, was nowhere to be found.

"You are only saying this is a bad idea because you want to stay here and eat cheese," Adrien observed, turning his attention back to the room, the glass panel closing over him when he touched the control panel.

"I do," Plagg concurred, unapologetic. "But more importantly, you have cameras in your face all through the day, not to mention that pile of them that has been waiting by the gate since last week, I can't understand why you would want more!"

Adrien sighed, the deodorant falling to his side for a moment.

"They are just doing their jobs," he simply stated. "Also, there is a really big difference between Nadja and the people camping outside."

Plagg's silence spoke volumes about him seeing no difference, but Adrien __really__ didn't have time to explain it to him. He needed Plagg to be the one doing the talking. He needed _—_

"Look," Adrien announced, stopping right in the middle of the room. Focusing. And frowning. And listening. "I won't be the talk of the studio because of how you smell."

"Do you want to be the talk of the city for sneaking out of the house?" Plagg retorted and Adrien snapped his head to the left, towards the door to his walk-in closet. "Nathalie asked if you would see that 'Face to Face' program and you said yes. Don't you want to stay and _—_?"

Adrien pulled the door to the walk-in closet wide open, the grin immediately taking over his face at finding Plagg's hiding place, being met by this horrified look from the kwami right before Adrien pressed the spray's button and a cloud of strongly scented perfume hit Plagg square in the chest.

"Sorry about that, Plagg," Adrien said while making his way back to his desk, a very betrayed looking kwami making disgusted noises behind him. "It is kind of an emergency."

"But cheese smells so much better!"

That was not only debatable it was downright false, still, if it made Plagg happy _—_ Adrien stopped near the pinball machines and looked back.

"It's just for today."

Plagg stopped sniffing himself long enough to throw this incredulous look at him.

"Are we __really__ going?"

Adrien blinked.

"Were you serious just now?"

"Did it sound like little old me was joking?" Plagg replied, crossing his arms and looking deeply offended. "Don't you ever take me seriously?"

Not really, no. But just this once _—_ Adrien went to lean against the nearest pinball machine, eyes never leaving Plagg's.

"Okay, let's say I'm Ladybug. You are her kwami," he said, pointing to himself and then at Plagg. "What would __she__ be saying to me right now?"

Plagg tilted his head.

"Tikki, you mean?" he asked and tapped on his chin, pondering for a moment, then sticking his tongue out.

"If I am here being all __responsible—"__ Plagg gave a very theatrical shiver at the thought. "She is being all mushy and saying she trusts her holder."

That kind of put it in perspective.

"We are going," Adrien decided, back at making his way to his desk.

"You are listening to Tikki instead of __me__?" Plagg exclaimed, rushing behind him, hands pressed to his heart. If that was a try at hurt feelings, however, all guilt Adrien might have felt feel right through the cracks the next instant. "I mean, sure I would much rather listen to Tikki too _—_ "

Adrien rolled his eyes, stopping with his hands over the back of his desk chair.

"We are going, Plagg."

"But it is such a __bad idea__ ," Plagg replied, landing in the midst of Adrien's math exercises. "And this is __me__ , telling __you,__ about bad ideas."

"Bad idea or not," Adrien replied, sitting down. "Ladybug is counting on us and we _—_ _ _the four of us—__ are a team. Can you imagine how weird it would be if Ladybug and Tikki end in that program alone?"

Plagg crossed his arms, unmoved.

"Take this for weird," he said, pointing to his left. "Your Father gets through __that door__ and you are not in your room."

Adrien took an exasperated breath.

"Like that ever happened."

"Christmas," Plagg put forth in a penetrating tone. "You ran out of the house thinking he didn't want to celebrate the holiday without your mother. Turns out he did want to. He was just __late__. For what I remembered you scared him half to death."

Adrien locked the Axe inside one of the desk's drawers, his forehead going to rest against his hand.

"We had agreed __never__ to talk about that part of Christmas," he whispered, not that Plagg was in any mood to be done with him just yet.

"If I remember correctly, your father thought a Santa Claus had kidnapped you," Plagg, in fact, was now saying, nodding his head at his own words. "And then Ladybug thought _—_ How did it go again? Hawkmoth had akumatized someone into Santa Claus to kidnap you? Was it something like that?"

Adrien cringed, head still on his hand. That was exactly what had happened.

"Well, Ladybug and your Father were mostly on the same page, weren't they?" Plagg observed. "And so was Hawkmoth, because then he __reeeeally__ turned that nice Santa Claus into an evil Santa Claus. That was _—_ " Plagg stopped for a moment. "Really __unimaginative.__ Anyway, your Father did come. You were the one who didn't wait for him. Just because he isn't here __now—__ "

Adrien tossed his arms in the air.

"Why are we back at this?" he exclaimed in utter despair. "Ever since that illusionist attacked the house, you are always taking Father's side!"

"No, I am __not__! I just _—_!"

Whatever Plagg had been about to say in a very sulky tone seemed to become stuck in his throat. He stood there for a moment, among Adrien's math exercises, eyes just as lifeless, just as haunted, as Father's.

"Plagg?" Adrien called out to him after a moment, visibly concerned. "Is something _—_?"

He didn't get to finish. Plagg had pinched himself. Hard by the looks of it. And he was turning back to Adrien, eyes shimmering like green fire.

"What is so difficult about going downstairs, knocking on that office door and asking __your father__ if he wants to watch the evening program with you?" he asked, serious. "What are you so afraid of?"

Adrien bit his lip.

"That he will say __no__."

"And what if he __does__?" Plagg questioned. "You asked. You said it was _ _important__. He knows. That is better than _—_ "

Adrien wouldn't know what Plagg meant to tell him next. Neither did he want to know. Or to listen. And so his hand snapped forward, catching the kwami, keeping him still over his math textbook.

"Open your mouth," Adrien asked, taking out a small flask of natural breath freshener he had been hiding in his pocket, then rolling his eyes when Plagg gave this wide-eyed look to it and shook his head. "Come on, __please__. You can't go without breathing forever."

"Yes, I can," Plagg said through the corner of his mouth, rapidly turning to speak through the other corner the instant Adrien tried to stick the natural breathe freshener tube through there. "You will never get me!"

And now, Plagg was holding his breath. Or he was pretending to be doing that while still breathing through his nose. There wasn't anything that Adrien could do but shake his head.

This was __childish__. And how utterly childish it was became suddenly incredibly embarrassing when Adrien found himself with this very clear image of himself sitting on his mother lap years ago, holding his breath, lips pressed and all of that just not to take his medicine.

"You can't go without breathing forever, __peek-a-boo__ ," she sighed with that gleam to her eyes that said she knew __exactly__ how he had been holding his breath for the last half an hour. "This will be over in a flash if you just take a brave breath and _—_ "

Her hand dived for his side, tickling him non-stop. If that normally would make Adrien burst into laughter, however, now he just twisted in her lap, lips sealed. The tickling strategy, however, was not what was leaving present-day Adrien frowning as he faced the holding-his-breath-kwami sitting among his studies. No. Instead, he watched Father rise from where he had been sitting at the foot of the bed, and make his way to the ongoing tickling match, the book he had been reading left behind.

Being diplomatic had already failed, so _—_ Very well. Time for the hands-on approach. Adrien's hand snapped forward the same moment Father's did, Plagg's nose getting caught between thumb and index finger much in the same way that of Adrien's much younger self had, both him and Father going to loom ominously over their respective prey, a steel-like gleam taking over their eyes.

"There is no way around this, young man," they said at the same time, in the same tone, and while leaning forward. Their answer? Both Plagg and Adrien's younger self puffed their cheeks. From where he was standing today, sitting at his desk, looking at Plagg, Adrien felt a sudden and overwhelming sympathy for Father.

Puffing cheeks? __Really?__

 _ _This isn't happening.__

But it was. And so both him and Father loomed closer still, the corners of their mouths curling down.

"I can do this the entire day," they went on to say. "Can you?"

Somewhere in the past, Mom had taken to hold her head in one hand, massaging her temples, looking like she was sinking into the deep depths of despair. In the present, Plagg might as well have turned into Adrien's five-year-old self. His mouth fell open, the natural breathe freshener Adrien immediately aimed inside his open mouth making Plagg flee from the desk the very same instant Adrien let go of his nose.

" _ ** _Who are you?!_**_ " Plagg exclaimed, pulling his tongue out to try to scrap the breathe freshener off it. "What did you do to my dear sweet Adrien?!"

Adrien returned the tube to his pocket, unmoved.

"It would have been easier if you had helped, Plagg."

The kwami didn't seem to care. Not for that anyway. In fact, the only thing that seemed to matter to Plagg was salvaging his tongue.

"Can I __bave__ my __bolder__ back?" he asked, words barely understandable now that he was holding his tongue between two fingers and trying to access the damage. "Can I __bave__ __bim__ back right __bow__?"

Adrien shook his head, getting back to his feet.

"That was __me,__ you know?" he sighed and marched all the way to the sofa, picked up the remote control and turned the TV volume up until he was certain it was audible in the atrium. A few more moments of going over the buttons and the countdown that appeared on the top of the screen gained a nod. "The timer is set. We are leaving."

Holding on to his tongue as he still was, Plagg stared at him, then rushed to his side, putting himself between Adrien and the glass wall he was walking to.

"But _—_!"

"Father won't come, Plagg," Adrien sighed.

"You don't know that," Plagg replied, still trying to block his path, arms wide open. "Just because he isn't here now doesn't mean he won't come. He must be working."

"He was working the entire week," Adrien reminded him. "If he wanted to be here, he _—_ "

The Miraculous bit into his finger so hard Adrien found himself holding his hand, the stabbing sensation climbing up his arm, however, was not as painful as the wave of guilt washing over at his mind, making him turn to the door and wait _—_ A minute. Two. And then just a little bit more _—_ before turning back to Plagg.

"Look, Father must have his reasons," Adrien said while trying to hide his disappointment and then pointed outside, towards the large tomcat still sprawled on the lap of Mother's statue. "Now, please __please__ , get your lookout out of there and into the front courtyard and let's go!"

 **Gabriel**

A pencil was rolling down the desk, it's pale purplish body picking up speed as it got further and further away from the metal case it had escaped, the sound of the rest of its companions being shuffled around covering its leap for freedom as it went right over the table's edge and hit the floor, an infuriated _"_ _ _Tsk"__ following in its wake.

" _ _Oú est—?!__ "

The infuriated question turned into an eye roll. Reaching out for the small pen knife he had forgotten was right at his side, Gabriel laid the blade against the pencil he held on his hands, frowning in concentration before going straight into work.

The blade slid easily under his touch. Long wood shavings raining over a pair of discarded designs. The hand that held the pencil rotating it until Gabriel raised the now carefully sharpened pencil to the light and picked up his notebook.

The soft scratching of lead against paper filled the atelier now. The pencil going over the elegant curve of a hip, the exquisite details to the back of a black nightgown, the careful turn to the charcoal model's torso that made it look so much like she was about to look back, skirt wrapping around her figure, the line of her neck already in view.

It was an unnecessary detail. A clear sign of an artist indulging himself. But Gabriel wouldn't have time to dwell on it. To chastise himself for losing time. Instead, the notebook hit his legs, a sudden commotion coming from the front courtyard making his head snap up, a watchful look being thrown to the street beyond the iron gates, anger distorting his face at what he already knew was there.

The vultures _—_ or, should he say, those blasted __journalists__ with their microphones and cameras and __questions__ that had set camp at his door for a week now! _—_ were pilling on the other side of the gates, cameras pointing at the front door, the clicking of the lenses breaking the quiet afternoon. Whatever disturbance had first caught their attention, however, whatever had happened that made them believe someone was going to step outside, whatever that was, it left them with nothing but disappointment at what they had actually caught.

A pigeon's sloppy landing on the front courtyard, a piece of bread held in its beak.

A group of sparrows sweeping in to try and steal it.

One of the city's large tomcats coming out of the bushes and scaring all of them away.

They should make the headlines those photos. Nearly fatal crash landing on a Parisian courtyard. Mugging near the Champs-Élysées. Break-in on famous fashion designer's grounds.

Leaning against Nathalie's desk near the windows overlooking the front courtyard, the design he had been working on being put next to the supplies that rested at his side, Gabriel clenched his teeth. The truth was he might actually have found some pleasure on his malicious outtake on his present predicament if an entire week of __this__ hadn't soured his mood to the point the only thing he could see while glaring outside was the striking resemblance he shared with the cat now sitting directly under his window. Blue eyes surveying the front courtyard. Seeming to wish to sink its claws on the pests by the gate about as much as Gabriel did.

Suffice to say, however, the white feline actually had a better chance of doing it than Gabriel as of now. The only claws Paris had offered him the entire day was this distant feeling of loneliness, of doubt. And it was too weak. Too unstable to fuel the akuma. Not that it would have done him any good even if it was at full strength. As things were, Gabriel had his hands tied. And not because the thing behind the emotions left him feeling troubled. Something in the back of his mind telling him it was too dangerous. That it was better to leave it alone. No, the reason why he couldn't act was because he had his house permanently __under siege__. Because there wasn't anyone in his household _—_ not even the damn bodyguard _—_ that could move without being shot on sight. And what was Gabriel any good for in this scenario? What was he any good for if he couldn't do anything?!

The desk slid back when Gabriel pulled himself away from it, the low metallic groan going through the atelier seeing him pick up the supplies he had scattered all over Nathalie's desk and make his way back to the one in the center of the atelier, to the sketches and designs covering the entirety of it, to _—_

"Master is still angry, isn't he?" a small voice pointed out, words rising from the small pile of thread reels Nooroo had gone around collecting and where he was now nestled in. "Does Master—?"

A glare hit Nooroo that same instant, its coldness, however, was not enough to stop the kwami from gathering his courage again and finish what he had been saying.

"Would Master wish to talk?" he asked, watching Gabriel as he went down the stairs near the console and started to walk along the table. "I can listen. I know how to."

There was hope to those words. Just as if Nooroo wanted Gabriel to pour his heart out, to share. It was a hope that gained him little but disappointment for Gabriel sat, put his supplies and sketchbook down, and went to rub his bruised right wrist. If he truly had thought he would be spared Nooroo, however, he was mistaken. The kwami was not only determined, he was now very much with him, having taken flight from his nest to stand in front of Gabriel, studying the design he had just put to the side, his head softly titled, the wonder filling his eyes slowly being replaced with concern.

"Is _—_ " Nooroo swallowed, fearful. "Is it an akuma?"

Gabriel's lips turned into a tin, harsh line, the nasty retort he could feel boiling deep within his chest making his gaze fall on Nooroo. Spiteful. Bitter. Cold enough that the kwami actually backed away. And yet, the instant the blue eyes fell on Nooroo, Gabriel was no longer seeing him. Instead, he gazed at his own sketchbook, at the sheet under the kwami, at this one piece that was to be the center of his __entire collection,__ attention running up and down the tight fit strapless bodice, the long skirt with its slit, the intricate burst of tulle flowing elegantly down the gown's back to the floor.

This—

Gabriel picked the sketchbook, incredulous.

This was a __butterfly__.

A black butterfly.

The entirety of Paris falling on its hands and knees over their Lords and Saviors Ladybug and Chat Noir and he had been about to put an akuma on the runway. Had _—_ Had he lost all manner of good sense? Of self-criticism? How on earth had this escaped his notice?! _**_How?!_**_

"Can Master not use one of these?" Nooroo's voice cut through his thoughts, his gentle offer, followed by this surreal sensation one of his many discarded designs had just jumped out of the bin, lead Gabriel back to reality, back to the kwami that had just landed on the desk and the crumbled piece of paper he was struggling to smooth out. To this small kwami who was smiling at the utter garbage that was inside.

"I think these are beautiful too," he whispered and Gabriel grinded his teeth, watching Nooroo dive back down, towards the overflowing paper bin near Gabriel's legs, talking non-stop.

"Is Master going to be making the clothes?" he queried, now back to the table with a second crumpled sheet. "Can I see them when they are done? Will _—_?"

Anger had just reached its boiling point. That same instant Gabriel turned, grabbing hold of the ball of paper Nooroo had on his hands, blue eyes staring him down for the half a second it took for Nooroo to drop his head, to let go of the crumpled sheet, to retreat, head hanging low, and go stand near the window.

"Can't Master do anything about them?" he now asked, landing on Nathalie's desk, near the computer display and keyboard, attention on the group outside. "This is Master's home. If the people with the cameras wish to harm the people he cares for, Master should be allowed to do something."

Ripping the sheet with the black gown out of the sketchbook and setting it aside, Gabriel pressed his lips, bent on going back to work, bent on ignoring him.

It lasted three seconds.

"If Master isn't allowed to do something," Nooroo said, turning back to him, a determined gleam to his eyes. "Hawkmoth is."

Gabriel's hand closed so tightly around the pencil pain blasted all the way up his arm. The furious gleam to his eyes, however, had nothing to do with that.

"You must think this is a game," he growled.

"No!"

A tremor had taken over Nooroo's voice, still he took flight, the fading daylight coming from the windows drawing the delicate outline of his wings as he caught sight of something and made his way to the floor.

"I have tried to tell Master," Nooroo said, coming back up a few seconds later, a pencil that was exactly his color in his hands. "Miraculous are meant to be used for good. And Master would be protecting his son."

A shocked silence befell the atelier. The retort that had been on the tip of Gabriel's tongue dying away as he stared at Nooroo, feeling the kwami's eyes bore into his.

"They hurt Adrien before, didn't they?" Nooroo asked, gently, never releasing Gabriel's eyes and searching _—_ searching for something within. "The people with the cameras."

Gabriel sat straighter, the pencil he had on his hand pressing so hard against the white sheet in front of him it was all but ripping through it.

"That is why Master is so angry. Master feels like he failed to keep Adrien safe—!"

He wouldn't get to finish. Gabriel was on his feet. Furious. The sight of Noooroo's eyes doubling in size, of the kwami trying to flee for safety, the last thing Gabriel was aware of before he hurled the sketchbook across the atelier and, with a knock, Nathalie made the very unfortunate decision of stepping inside. It was _—_ It was like watching a disaster in slow motion. The notebook Gabriel had sent zooming for the kwami was heading towards her instead. And it was nothing short of luck it never reached her. That instead it bashed violently against the door, failing to hit Nathalie by mere centimeters.

Still—and as if Gabriel was in need of more guilt to top this one up—Nathalie took a step back, towards the atrium, eyes searching Gabriel's face. Alarmed. Frightened. Clearly expecting to find someone who was not entirely him inside. It seemed to relieve her immensely that, in the end, the sketchbook remained on the ground, face down and sheets crumbled, rather than fly back to Gabriel's outstretched hand.

"My apologies, Sir," she said, professional as ever and leaning to pick up the sketchbook. "Had I known you were this eager to hand over your work, I would have come earlier."

Gabriel pressed the cane of his nose at the note of humor in her tone, attention following Nathalie as she made her way to his side, smoothing out each of the sketchbook's pages, the surprised look she went on to give the designs over the table, leading Gabriel to follow her gaze _—_ and immediately curl his lips.

He hadn't noticed it beforee but the sheets over the desk were __organized__. Lined next to each other in these perfectly spaced rows. They hadn't been like that when she had left. This was not remotely the way Gabriel kept his work. Which meant only one thing. __Nooroo__ had kept himself __entertained__ the last few hours. One of the few times he allowed the thing out of the Observatory and it was already messing around. Was he dealing with children now to have to tell the kwami not to—?!

"Is this final?" Nathalie queried, cutting through Gabriel's mental rant, his sketchbook being put over the table so she could pick the design she had mentioned. The one with the black gown. "Do you wish for it to be sent to—?"

Her eyebrows knitted the same instant she took a closer look, attention moving up and down the design, lingering on it, then on him.

"I know what it resembles," Gabriel replied, sharply.

"Should I archive it?"

Gabriel pressed his lips, raising one hand to receive the design… and to crush it as soon as he had it back, the way Nathalie's gaze kept following the discarded sheet even as it fell on the bin a mere side note on his mind.

"I will be retiring," she informed after a moment, attention now back to him. "Do you need something?"

Gabriel frowned at the fading daylight coming from the exterior, fingers diving for the phone over the table, running down its display, irritation taking over his pensive expression the very instant he looked at the clock.

"You should have retired three hours ago."

"Adrien was studying," Nathalie simply informed. "He needed help."

"Adrien," Gabriel retorted, starting to make his way around the table to get to the atelier's upper level. "Needs to __remember__ tutoring him is no longer part of your job. Rest assured I will raise the subject with him."

Nathalie's sharp intake of breath, her irritation, made the Miraculous stab at Gabriel's chest.

"Would it be __possible__ to break your fasting on talking with him with any other subject?" she countered, sternly. "It has been a week since you were in the same room."

"A privilege he should be grateful for as you yourself can attest to."

"A privilege for which he __isn't,__ " Nathalie replied as Gabriel stopped in front of the windows, staring outside. When she again talked, her voice was back to her usual neutral tone. "This interview you will be watching tonight, the one with Ladybug and Chat Noir _—_ I inquired Adrien after it. He said he would be watching."

Gabriel pressed his lips, silence settling around him, eyes meeting his own reflection. What he saw there made him clench his fists.

"Will you go to him?" Nathalie even so insisted. Her reflection telling him she was making her way up _—_ and stopping near the console. "It was you who said it wasn't safe to send akumas out during the day while the press remains outside. There is little reason for you and Adrien to be on opposite ends of the house."

"There is plenty of reason," Gabriel retorted.

"He misses you."

Gabriel closed his eyes, clasping his hands so hard his knuckles turned white and yet, when he opened them, it was still __there__. Staring back at him from the window. The angry creature wearing his face.

"He doesn't need to deal with this."

"No," Nathalie agreed, her disappointment making the Miraculous shiver against Gabriel's chest. "But, I am sure he would rather."

She dropped her eyes to the floor with those words, stepping back towards the console, connecting it, a gentle _"_ _ _Goodnight, Sir"__ left in her wake as she stepped outside, closing the door. Her absence made the atelier feel empty. At least, until __Nooroo__ returned to stand with him near the window, extending the now crumpled sheet with the black gown back to Gabriel.

"The Lady likes it," he told him, gently. "She was sad when Master tossed it away. I thought Master ought to know."

Gabriel glanced at the gown, then at the door, only to turn his back on all of it a moment later, the announcement of the _"_ _ _beloved guardians of Paris"__ coming from the console leading him straight to it. He never noticed the sad look Nooroo was giving him. He never noticed he had stayed behind, trying to smooth the sheet. Instead, Gabriel focused on studying the two self-proclaimed _'_ _ _superheroes'__ being made fools on prime time, compromising picture after compromising picture leaving the bug rigid and increasingly outraged. As for the cat _—_

"We are __not__ a couple!" Ladybug insisted, leaning forward in the sofa, looking back at her partner for support.

"But hopefully one day!" he teased.

"Chat!"

Gabriel's eyes bored into the feline, studying Chat Noir as he remained sprawled on the sofa, smiling and in good humor, his initial shock at the pictures rolling over him like a passing wave and leaving him chuckling at what was happening. Always charming. Always polite. __And behaving like he had been taught how to do this.__

"Master?"

Gabriel had stormed into the dark atrium. Attention on Adrien's door. The voices coming from inside the atelier and his son's bedroom following behind him as he marched to the stairs. The certainty he was about to find the room __empty__ , making his anger boil.

"This interview is so over," the bug was now saying, her voice echoing on the atrium alongside Gabriel's footsteps, her angry words giving way to the cat's confused exclamation.

"What's the rush?"

"There is an alert."

"Wait you two the show is not over yet!" a third voice, the one belonging to the reporter, Nadja Chamack, trembled on the white and black marble, the steady pulsing of the Miraculous turning into one sharp stab at her words. "Your fans will be disappointed if they don't get an answer!"

It was as if time had stopped. Standing on the first step of the stairway, one hand over the cold stone railing, attention still on Adrien's bedroom door, Gabriel waited, furious but listening, the dark sky hanging over the press weighing on his mind about as much as what he could sense in the distance. Hope and despair all in one. A swaying pendulum hanging on the bug's answer. Just like his chance. A chance the night would finally allow him to take.

 _ _So, what will be it, bug?__ _ ** _Speak!_**_

And Ladybug did. Her clear, determined voice echoing on the high ceiling of the house's entrance.

"If they are true fans they will understand."

"Milady is right."

Gabriel had to laugh. He was still laughing as the butterflies rose around him and the akuma left his fingers, disappearing into the night, attaching itself to his prey.

"Prime Queen, I see Ladybug and Chat Noir have denied you the answers you deserve," he said, softly. "Steal their Miraculous and you will get your scoop."

Hawkmoth stepped towards the circular window with Nadja's answer. His grin, however, died the same moment he looked outside to find the press making its usual rounds around the house. The ever-present memory of returning home, on the countryside, to find Adrien sitting on the stairway, waiting for Emilie, eyes rimmed red and trying to whip away his tears, coming to the forefront of his mind so clearly, Gabriel was left looming high over that group, Nooroo's words haunting his thoughts.

" _ _Master__ _ _feels like he failed to keep Adrien safe__ _—"_

Gabriel's hands closed over the cane, hatred taking over his mind.

Prime Queen, was it not?

Very well, he would let her do as she pleased.

 **Adrien**

"Do you think Nadja will be __alright__?" Chat Noir was mumbling to himself, one hand running through his hair as he laid belly up on a roof, eyes closed. "Do __you__ think _—_?"

Adrien's present exercise of stressing each of the words on that sentence was cut short by a yawn, Ladybug's query _—_ the one she had made shortly before disappearing into the night or, should he say, before she dashed away in a panic, telling him to keep an eye on Nadja and leaving Adrien to stare at her back utterly bewildered _—_ hanging among the sounds of traffic, before the conversation flowing softly out of a window two floors below Adrien threatened to take center stage and Adrien cleaned his throat, trying to muffle Sabine Dupain Cheng's quiet voice with his own.

"Am I missing something?" Adrien pondered, the hand that had been running through his hair, now hanging limply over the drop to his left, a cloudy sky opening in front of him as he peeked from behind heavy eyelids. "I must be missing something. I mean _—_ "

"Chat."

 _ _This__ must be karma for running after Plagg with deodorant. Sprawled as he was over the tiles, bored, tired and, he feared, closer to dozing off than he would ever admit to, Adrien didn't so much jump back to action as he very literally dived into it. The girl who was standing on the small terrace under him, the girl his mind had perceived as a threat and who most definitely was __not__ one, being left to stare at him as rolled and yelped and crashed through the air headfirst. How he managed to land on all fours after that _—_ rather than on his nose, he meant _—_ was a mystery Adrien didn't care to see solved as much as one more of the many surrounding the blue-eyed girl leaning down and offering a hand to him in help.

"Could you be any more like a cat?" Ladybug sighed, pulling him back to his feet as soon as his hand closed over hers. "You just made that twisting midair thing they do, you know?"

Running one hand over his hair, pulling it off his eyes so he could stare at Ladybug in disbelief, Adrien took a pair of seconds to find his voice.

"Where on earth did you just come out __of__?!"

"Never mind that," Ladybug shrugged and her attention moved away from the small terrace they stood on, away from its plants and chair and a math textbook that laid open on a small table, her right hand raising to point his attention towards the street, towards this young woman making her way across the sidewalk and towards her parked car, a small child deeply asleep against her shoulder.

"Nadja is leaving," she said. "We have to go!"

Ladybug was off before Adrien could say anything, before he could __ask__ anything, including what the two of them were supposed to be doing, what __he__ had been doing ever since Prime Queen had gone back to being just Nadja Chamack and Chat Noir had discretely tailed her all through Paris. First back to her workplace. Then to pick up her daughter from what turned to be Marinette's house. Now _—_

"Chat! Come on!"

Adrien took the staff out, running after Ladybug just as she tossed the yo-yo across the street, wrapped it around a nearby chimney and jumped away from the terrace, the mouth-watering smell of pastries and bread still following behind them even as the car took a turn away from Place des Vosges and the Dupain-Cheng's household was left behind.

"Out of curiosity, Milady," Adrien finally managed to ask as the two of them landed on a nearby roof, keeping track of the car, the black tiles they were running over clanking against each other, naked trees and lit street lamps falling behind them. "Why are we following Nadja? What are we keeping an eye out for? Muggers? Stalkers? Enraged fans?"

A red street light brought Nadja's car to a stop on a long line of traffic. Both of them dropping for cover, belly down, on the opposite side of the roof's incline, Adrien found himself frowning at the hand Ladybug had risen his way. A hand and three very imperative gloved fingers that started going down in tandem with her words.

"Runway metro. Plugging sarcophagus. Locked freezer."

 _ _Right.__ Adrien nodded, peeking over the moss-covered tiles to the long line of traffic, keeping one eye on Nadja's car, before turning back to Ladybug.

"Should I be on the lookout for __those__?"

Ladybug rolled her eyes.

"No," she groaned, stealing a glance at Adrien. She had only to take the huge Chesire Cat grin on his face for her forehead to go rest against the tiles.

"I am not making any sense, am I?"

"No, not really, Milady," Adrien smiled, but the traffic light had gone green and they were on the move before he could continue, back to following the car, back to jumping from roof to roof and this time they didn't stop for a very long time. When they did stop, they were on the opposite side of the city, surrounded by modern buildings, having crossed the Seine, La Tour Eiffel far off in the distance. And to be honest, while landing on top of a 10 or something floor building, walking by row after row of AC units, feet sinking into this large pool of water one of them was dripping all over the place, Adrien was rather sure they had lost Nadja. Or he was sure, until he joined Ladybug after she jogged away from him, moonlight washing over her bright red suit, and went to lean on the parapet, pointing his attention downwards.

"She is home now," she commented and Adrien had to frown.

"You know where Nadja __lives__?"

He was shushed, attention being pointed to the street again.

Under them, beyond the naked trees and lit street lamps, standing at the precariously lit doorstep of one of the street's many modern buildings, Nadja Chamack was not so much _'_ _ _at home'__ as she was searching for the keys that would get her there, her daughter so deeply asleep against her shoulder she didn't even stir despite Nadja's going over her bag or, Adrien might add, when she let out a triumphant exclamation and fished the key from inside, put it to the building's door and, a short struggle later, disappeared inside with the sleeping Mannon. It was only when the light was turned on in one of the top floors sometime later, that Adrien turned back towards Ladybug to find her drumming her fingers against the cement parapet, looking up and down the street rather than the building, her cautious expression such Adrien was left mimicking her gesture. Searching the night. Frowning. And, as it would happen, at a loss.

"Am I missing something?" he asked her much in the same way he had asked himself, all the while trying to read Ladybug's expression. "What's in your mind? You know, apart from school tests, homework, and all those pesky little things I am sure are crawling all over your room too."

Ladybug snorted, aiming a friendly punch at his arm.

"Stop that," she said, again turning to the street, the cars going up and down it being completely ignored as she instead searched the sky over the city, relief finally putting a smile on her face. " _ _Nothing__. We can go home now, Chat!"

Having jumped to sit on the parapet only to see Ladybug dash back the way they had come, running by row after row of AC units, feet sinking into the puddle, Adrien didn't think he had ever been this confused in his life.

"Wait!" he shouted as she took out the yo-yo. "We are __leaving__?!"

"Turns out I was wrong!"

"Wrong about what?! Milady!"

She had _—_ She had jumped already! Her yo-yo cutting through the sky, the bright red suit being draw on the glass facade of the building on the other side of the street as she swung, landed on its roof and Adrien moved to follow after her, using the staff to propel himself over the street and land on a terrace that, going by the sheer number of AC units, wasn't all that different from the one he had just left.

"A little heads next time?" Adrien asked upon rejoining Ladybug on her jog across this new building, a sea of lights opening in front of them as the two of them took a left and __La Tour Eiffel__ appeared among the sea of smaller buildings in the distance. "What's gotten into you?"

"Butterflies," Ladybug said, shrugging at Adrien's raised eyebrows. "I thought Hawkmoth might come after Nadja again."

 _ _What?__

"Why would he do __that__?" Adrien asked and they both jumped off the building, soaring through the sky before landing several meters down and right on top of one of the city's buses.

"I don't know," Ladybug said, holding on to the top of the bus, the traffic going by them as she spoke. "I just thought what happened today seemed personal."

"Not wanting to sound dramatic," Adrien started to say, the vehicle they were riding taking a turn on the wrong direction forcing them to jump off it and again aim for the rooftops. "But it's always personal with him," Adrien continued as soon as they landed. "I get this feeling he kind of hates us."

"I meant personal against __Nadja,__ " Ladybug simply stated and they stopped, her hand going to grab the metal ladder on a nearby chimney as she turned to him. "Prime Queen was completely out of control. I just thought, you know, Hawkmoth usually runs a really tight ship, so _—_ "

Adrien had to snort, crossing his arms, the night breeze playing with his hair, staff tapping against his shoulder.

"He has a one person show!" he couldn't resist saying, a huge grin filling his face as the two of them started running again. "It can't be that _—_!"

 _ _Hard__ , was lost to this sharp stab of pain that sank into his hand right at that moment. The loud exclamation that Adrien couldn't help but make startling Ladybug so much she tried to both aim her yo-yo and turn to him the same moment. It went _—_ Well, it went as expected. She slipped. Starting to go down the roof before managing to stop herself halfway down and climb her way back up, stopping near Adrien, concern written on her face.

"What __happened__?"

"I have no idea," Adrien groaned, opening and closing his hand, before dropping to sit on the tiles, a comfortably cold breezing going by him. "But, I have been meaning to ask, Milady, has your Miraculous developed a vendetta against you this last week?"

"A ven _—_?"

Ladybug looked between him and the hand he was holding, immediately dropping to grab hold of his wrist and raise his hand against the pale moonlight. She was turning it back and forth now. Frowning and squinting.

"No," she said, blue eyes, sinking into his. " _ _Why?__ "

"Mine has. I think it's trying to bite my finger off," Adrien tried to joke. "It's either that or trying to tell me something."

Ladybug's face filled with alarm.

"I really hope not," she whispered, back to studying his Miraculous, then grimacing at Adrien's questioning gaze.

"Bad luck, Chat?" she reminded him, proceeding to point at the black ring. "That is what that Miraculous is supposed to stand for, right? If it is telling you something…"

Adrien hadn't _—_ He hadn't thought of that.

"You think it's something __bad?!__ "

Ladybug tilted her head, pragmatic as ever, the sounds of traffic and honking vehicles rising around them as she talked.

"Have you spoken to your kwami?" she asked, crossing her arms, the nod Adrien gave her make her frown. "What did he say?"

"That it's normal. That it isn't anything important. That it is supposed to happen due to affinity between holder and Miraculous or something of the sort. It was not that helpful to be honest."

Adrien sighed, shaking his head.

"I mean, I went the entire week trying to give him a bath and spraying him with perfume, so he would be __unhelpful__ , but _—_ "

Ladybug's eyebrows had just jumped up, she was looking up and down him, head going to lean against her right hand.

"I wondered what that smell was," she whispered, thoughtful, while sniffing the air. "I mean it's __nice__ , but I think you went a little overboard there, Chat."

"Believe me, __I didn't,__ " Adrien replied, ominously, and then sighed looking at the now ominously calm Miraculous.

"Sure would be useful to know whoever gave us these," he said. "At least, we could ask, right? As it stands we have a better chance of going to Hawkmoth and ask __him__."

Adrien had to snort at imagining how that would go down, Ladybug's very uncomfortable expression not even registering on his mind as he leaned back, going back to the city shining bright around them and their original conversation.

"So you thought Hawkmoth was trying to make Nadja look bad or something?" he asked, seeing Ladybug shrug, head still on her hand. "That was why we were following her?"

"Kind off?" Ladybug said, a cloud going passed the moon leaving darkness to settle around them. "I mean, can you imagine what would happen if she had actually defeated us? How much people would hate her? She was broadcasting it all on top of it. So I thought that she must have done something. Maybe Hawkmoth knew her and _—_ "

"She interviewed him with some scandalous pictures?"

It was like a bomb had gone off. Ladybug was up the same instant, arms crossed, this outraged gleam to her eyes.

"I was not kissing you!"

Adrien tossed his head back for a heartfelt chuckle.

"I would much rather remember when you do," he teased, good-naturedly, the distant tolling of a church bell making Ladybug spring back to action, not to say across the roof, while glaring his way.

"I have to get home!" she announced, taking the yo-yo out and tossing it across the street only to come to an abrupt stop with one foot already over the parapet and turn back to him. "By the way, I read about Medusa and the Minotaur."

Adrien's eyebrows jumped.

"You did?" he asked, astonished, getting to his feet as soon as he saw Ladybug start to take balance to leave the roof. "Wait! Don't! What did you think?"

"That you have some very interesting literary taste, kitty."

Adrien had to chuckle, facing Ladybug as she stood surrounded by the city's lights.

"That's not me," he admitted with a fond smile, right hand running through his hair. "I had someone reading them to me when _—_ "

His head caught up to his mouth too late. The sound of a door opening inside his memory, the clicking of high heels replacing the calm voice that had been reading to him, leaving him staring at Ladybug so fearful of what her reaction might be, so certain of what was to come _—_ for he had heard it all before _—_ that the same words that had been on Father's voice when Mother stopped at his side, reaching for the book on his lap, had found their place in his voice.

Sad.

And awkward.

And pleading.

"It's culture."

"It makes for some weird bedtime stories," Ladybug pointed out.

He _—_ He must be staring at her. He __was__ staring at her. At her smile. At that small dimple that always appeared on the left side of Ladybug's face when she really meant it. At the teasing gleam to her blue eyes. This wasn't _—_ This wasn't at all what he had expected. It wasn't how Mother had reacted. She hadn't smiled. She hadn't found it funny. And he didn't know… He was too dumbstruck to know how to react.

"Well, I-I mean," Adrien stuttered, suddenly not knowing what to do with his hands _—_ and all other parts of himself actually. "The person who told them to me is rather weird too!"

Adrien pressed his temples at that. What was he __saying__?! It wasn't as if it was untruth but did he have to go around and describe Father like __that__?

"When I said weird, I meant _—_ "

"That this person is kind of like you, kitty?" Ladybug put forth leaving Adrien to stare at her.

"Am I __weird__?"

Ladybug's teasing smile looked like a chuckle. This time, turning back to the bright city lights, she really took balance.

"I will read about some guy named Pantheon and a Sun Charriot tomorrow!"

"You __will__?"

"I like those stories, Chat!"

Adrien froze. Those words _—_ How easily Ladybug had spoken them, like they were no big deal at all, haunting him as he watched her jump off the roof, land across the street and dive into the night, getting smaller and smaller, turning into this distant red dot _—_ and then into nothing at all.

How long did he stand there after he lost her from sight? How long until he convinced himself to go back to the house? Minutes? Hours?

In the end, he only knew that he was still not back to his room when the sun broke over the city. That, instead, he sat and gazed at the chateau from one of the nearby roofs. Watching the press as it remained at the door. Seeing Father's bedroom light being turned off. Dropping his eyes as Nathalie appeared at the door to meet the delivery truck that always brought the red roses he left near Mother's statue in the garden.

It was only when she left the courtyard, disappearing inside the house, that Adrien found it in himself to take that one final leap, to land inside his room and go down the stairs.

"Will you talk to your father __now?"__ Plagg insisted, arms crossed and peeking from inside Adrien's shirt.

"I have to do something first."

And he made his way into the silent living room. To the family portrait over the mantelpiece. He made his way to Mother.

"I _—_ "

Adrien took a deep breathe, facing those green eyes that were so much like his own.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he said. "But you got so angry with Father, I _—_ "

It felt like she was waiting. Her head tilted, that small smile she used to listen to him with touching her lips. It felt just like she was __here__ and thinking that, what Adrien had wished he had been brave enough to tell her all those years ago, the words that might have stopped whatever she had said after Nathalie had caught him with his ear pressed to the living room door and taken him away _—_ the words that might have stopped whatever Mom had told Father that had made him never return with his stories and his monsters no matter how long Adrien waited for him _—_ those words found their place in the solitude of the living room, his heart opening for a confession Adrien wished more than anything his mother could still hear.

"I liked them too."

 **Nathalie**

"I am not at all sure this is a good idea," a croaky voice was stating, the not so quiet words rising on the marble atrium just as the sun appeared over the buildings, a rare warmth making its way inside. "I am all for the rebellious streak, you know? But if your father finds you __here__ you will get to be a rebel in your room."

"I won't get to be a rebel __anywhere__ ," Adrien replied, obstinate and with his voice slightly muffled. His position, kneeling in front of the atelier's door, made it clear he was trying to look through the keyhole. "And Father won't catch us if you help."

"The only reason why he won't catch _**_us_**_ ," the first voice started to say. "Is because I won't be here for him to catch. I hate to be the voice of reason, but _—_ _ _Did you hear that?__ "

"Stop. Trying. To scare me!" Adrien hissed, ear now pressed to the door.

"But I just heard this _ _splash!__ "

"There was no __splash!__ There is no one here! It's just me, Nathalie and Father in the house and they both live here! __Why__ would they hide?!"

Silent, back pressed against the stairway on the opposite side where Adrien stood, Nathalie shook her head at herself. __Why__ she was hiding was actually a pretty good question. __Why__ she was hiding with a vase that had very nearly slipped from her hands, and her feet in a puddle of water was probably a better one. Still, she remained where she was. Looking over the railway to the place where Adrien stood. Listening to that strange voice. Taking her chances with the family crystals. Suspicion finally getting the better of her and making her step across the atrium, listening in as Adrien and whoever he was speaking to kept at their argument, words muffling her footsteps.

"Can you see something?" the croaky voice asked.

"Not with you talking."

"How does me __talking__ hamper you from __seeing__?!"

"I didn't say it made sense!"

Nathalie cleared her throat, stopping right behind Adrien, crystal vase still in her hands, this very clear memory of catching a much younger Adrien doing the exact same thing spilling into her words.

"I thought we were passed this."

Adrien almost hit the ceiling, his startled gasp echoing loudly in the atrium as he tried to scramble away from the door, to get back to his feet, to face her and instead was catapulted backwards, falling arms flapping at his sides and ending up sprawled belly up at her feet, a half-relieved, half-embarrassed smile filling his face when he saw who it was that stood over him.

"I thought you were inside," Adrien admitted pointing at the atelier's door, his words being met by Nathalie's raised eyebrows.

"What gave me away?"

Adrien snorted, hand remaining firmly closed over his shirt pocket as he went to sit. There was something to that gesture _—_ _ _something__ that made Nathalie frown.

"Who were you talking to?" she queried, eyes searching the green ones, then falling on the phone Adrien had on his hand. The same one he was rising to show her.

"Nino," he clarified, pulling the phone back down. "He is going to Marinette's birthday party too. We were just deciding where we would meet."

Nathalie tilted her head.

"By listening at the door?"

Adrien's expression fell, this glance being given behind him _—_ towards the atelier's dark door _—_ before he turned back to her, eyes downcast.

"I knocked but Father didn't answer," Adrien explained, a sad note to his words. "I just wanted to say goodbye. I haven't seen him the entire week."

Nathalie's fingers closed tighter around the crystal vase, her lips turning into a thin harsh line when she looked at the atelier door and stepped forward, walking right by Adrien.

"Give me a moment."

A blast of cold came from inside the atelier when she opened the door. Stopping by the entrance, however, her hip being used as leverage to keep the door open, Nathalie hadn't been brought to a stop by the Arctic-like temperature. No. Instead, she stood squinting at this thick wall of darkness, the blade of light coming from behind her allowing her to see the first of the stone models and her own desk to the left but little else.

It made little difference, though. At this point, she knew this room by heart and _—_ even if that in no way __meant__ she would risk navigating the atelier in complete darkness considering the pit running around the center desk _—_ she stepped inside all the same, making her way along her desk, towards the roses _—_ Emilie's roses _—_ that laid over it, the jar being carefully dropped next to them.

She would be lying if she said she expected this. The atelier hadn't been in this state when she had left. And she didn't have the courage to look back at Adrien and see what he thought of this. As it was she could almost picture him. The wide-eyed stare. The way he must be biting his lip. One hand running through his hair.

This wouldn't do.

Too much was enough.

And Nathalie went around her desk, fingers hitting the AC commands that were right over the scanner, then the shutters' controls at their side. Light washed over the atelier the same moment she did, touching the stone models and the black and white designs behind them, rushing all the way along the center desk, the warm torrent of air cutting through the cold making the designs over the desk flutter.

It should have made things __better__. But none of it made that much difference given Gabriel's present mood.

"I thought I had made it clear," he said speaking from the other end of the atelier, from where she expected him to be, his back turned and facing Emilie's portrait. "That I don't want to be __disturbed__."

Back to the jar she had brought with her, Nathalie laid the roses gently in the water, fingers running over the crimson-red buds before she turned back to the atelier, back to Gabriel, eyes facing his back.

"I am afraid this concerns work, Sir," she said finally glancing at Adrien, a discreet gesture telling him to wait before she went back to his father and proceeded. "Your PR Department called. It has several fashion magazines interested in interviewing you. Bernhard has sent the information to your e-mail, he asks _—_ "

"The answer is no."

Nathalie remained impassive.

"To all of them?"

Gabriel's lack of answer was an answer in itself.

"I will call back and inform Bernhard," she therefore said and, allowing a moment of silence to go by, she turned back towards the atrium, this time signaling Adrien to join her.

"On a more important note, Sir," she then announced, hands closing over Adrien's shoulders. "Your son is here. He wishes to speak with you."

Gabriel's shoulders visibly tensed. Standing at her side, attention moving between her and his father, Adrien seemed to notice it too. He hesitated _ _.__ He hesitated for an incredibly long moment. And then gave this weird jump, a gasp going passed his lips.

"I am leaving for Marinette's party!" he exclaimed, massaging his chest in the exasperated fashion of someone who had just been pinched. "I _—_ "

He hesitated. Again. And in a second, he had __jumped__. Again.

"I made Marinette a gift!" Adrien now blurted out, right hand snapping shut over the same pocket he had been holding some minutes earlier and __really__ , Nathalie would have gone ahead and asked what on earth was going on if Adrien wasn't rummaging through his shirt inner pocket now, a pink box being taken out. "Do you want to see it?"

They both stood there. Next to her desk. Waiting. But there wasn't a word, a movement, not anything to say Gabriel was even paying attention, much less interested, and, for a moment, Nathalie feared, she truly __feared__ , Adrien might leave. She feared it even more when she felt him slip from her fingers. But that wasn't what he meant to do. Instead, Adrien stepped forward, making it all the way across the atelier to stand at his father's side. Then, he opened the box and showed him the gift.

It got little but a glance.

"What is it?"

"A lucky charm."

It was the worse thing Adrien could have said. Gabriel's shoulders stiffened. His entire body did. And, next to her desk, Nathalie closed her eyes, returning to the pair on the other side of the atelier to find Adrien staring at his gift.

"Is it __that__ bad?" he whispered, going back to Gabriel, apprehension spilling right into his words. "Do you think it's weird? It's not horrible, is it?"

He was heading towards an explosion. Judging by the way Gabriel raised his eyes to the painting, to Emilie, what Nathalie could only conclude was a very accusatory look being thrown her way, he was already halfway down that path and Adrien was not giving an inch. He stood there arms crossed and sounding outraged.

"I'm not being __dramatic!"__

"What is this about then?!" Gabriel snapped.

"Do you like it?"

Nathalie stood straighter. It looked _—_ It looked like Adrien had just doused Gabriel with cold water. He turned. The way the grayish eyes run up and down Adrien's face seeming to imply he was just now becoming aware of what _"_ _ _Your son is here"__ meant. And the moment he did __see__ Adrien, it receded. The blue fire in his eyes. It receded until Hawkmoth was but a shadow and Nathalie stepped back to the atrium, not noticing that split second when Gabriel looked her way, never looking back until the door clicked behind her and she leaned her forehead against it, a plea in her mind.

 _ _Please, let this work.__

 **Adrien**

"You __made__ this?" Father was querying, fingers reaching out to take the amulet from inside its box, eyebrows raised in an arch. "Alone?"

Still standing next to the golden painting, attention moving from the amulet to Father, Adrien changed his weight from one foot to the other, right hand running through his hair.

"Yeah, I… That is the right way of doing it, isn't it?" he asked, uncertain. "It was what Marinette did. What you did with your gift on my _—_ " He stopped himself from saying 'anniversary' right on time. "What do you think?"

"It's _—_ "

Father seemed to be at a complete loss for words right now. In fact, he was hanging the amulet from his fingers, watching the asymmetric stones spin, and frowning in such a way Adrien had to sigh. Well, he knew what that meant.

"It _**_is_**_ horrible, isn't it?" he concluded all the while watching Father go over the strap that kept the amulet from falling apart. He had no idea how that was even possible but Father's frown actually __deepened.__ And to make matters worse he was marching straight for the atelier's console, fingers flying over the display.

Adrien shook his head. Crestfallen.

"Should I get her something else?" he asked Father's back. "I still have time."

Stepping down from the console, making his way to a niche that was opening right in the center of the atelier's inner wall, Father simply rolled his eyes.

"You are not getting her __something else__ ," he snapped. "And it is _**_not_**_ horrible. It's pink."

Father stopped near the niche as he said that, fingers tapping on the adorned arm of an antique sewing machine Adrien hadn't seen in years, attention roaming over the many small drawers the rolling panel had revealed. It didn't take long, however, for Father to give up on trying to remember where he kept what and start to search, a glance going to where Adrien stood.

"I had never noticed you had any sympathy for pink," he commented in a softer tone and while opening the first of the drawers, fingers rummaging through its contents. "Or any reds for that matter. Navy, greens, white. I was lead to believe those were your preferences. Not that it is in any way surprising. Your mother _—_ "

Adrien was rushing across the atelier that same moment. The words having turned into a sharp intake of breath sending him marching by the center desk, the many designs that were over it barely registering in his mind as he stopped next to the niche. He had meant to grab Father's shoulder _—_ his hand was halfway there already _—_ but he never got to do it. The instant Father saw he was here, the moment he understood __why__ , he clenched his teeth and soldiered on.

" _ _Your mother__ ," he forced himself through. "Also suffered from a strong aversion to anything that didn't come from those palettes. Red, black, purple… One might think they had given offense."

Father closed his eyes at that, forcing himself to breathe _—_ and barely giving himself any time to before continuing.

"That is not to say a simple suggestion means I am unable to understand __preferences__ ," he put forth, now sounding annoyed. "I know quite well there are such things as complexion. Personality. Temperament _—_ " He had gone back to opening and closing drawers in tandem with each word and now he stopped, fingers still holding one of the knobs, a sigh bringing a melancholic undertone to his otherwise passionate speech.

"Still, it was a shame. It is rather limiting not being allowed to work a full palette. Or less than a third of it. And far as experimentation goes _—_ "

Father turned, the toolbox he had just pulled from inside one of the bigger drawers in hand, his attention falling directly on Adrien. It stopped him right in his tracks. As it did his words. The silence taking over the atelier when Father shook his head and walked passed him, leaving Adrien to open his mouth.

 _ _You were not annoying me,__ he wanted to say, but Father wouldn't believe even if he had, so Adrien just followed him, going to stand next to Nathalie's desk, watching the toolbox and this small metal piece that looked a lot like the end of a necklace being put over it, then frowning at how strained Father's movements became when he took upon himself to carefully pull out the end of the amulet.

"Is your hand better?"

Adrien knew it wasn't just by glancing at it.

"Are you not getting that looked _—_?"

"Pink."

Adrien stood straighter, crossing his arms, this belligerent expression that would have looked a lot more natural in the face at his side taking over his features only to be replaced by resignation a second later. His arms fell back to his side. He wouldn't win this. And, really, he didn't want to start an argument right now.

"Pink is Marinette's favorite color," Adrien explained, watching Father put the piece that had closed the amulet over the table and raise the amulet itself to the light. The pink stones shone as he did so. And for some reason, doubt suddenly crept its way into Adrien's mind.

"At least, I think it is her favorite color?" he trailed off, eyes widening and going to count through his fingers. "I mean, it is in her school bag and her purse and pencil case and this magic box she keeps her diary in _—_ "

Father snapped his head his way, eyebrows knitted.

"A magic box?"

"Yeah, it snaps shut if someone tries to steal the diary," Adrien explained, seeing the grayish blue eyes flee from him just as he tried to meet them. "It is really cool actually. Marinette built it herself."

Father reached inside the toolbox, pulling out a side cutter.

"And you know this _—_ "

"Sabrina once ended up with her hand locked inside it for most of the day."

There was a slight tilt to Father's head now, a harsh curl to his lips. Using the side cutter to trim the edge of the amulet, small bits of thread falling over the desk, Father looked _—_ and worse sounded _—_ utterly unimpressed.

"I didn't believe that young lady so silly she would take her diary to school," he said.

Adrien let escape this long exhale.

"She didn't do anything of the sort," he replied, watching Father going back to search for something inside the toolbox. "There was this class representative thing going on. Kind of an election. She decided to run against Chloe."

"How courageous."

"My classmates seemed to think that it was," Adrien told him, the sound of tools being shuffled against each other raising alongside his words. "It wasn't as if anyone else stepped forward other than her. They were really excited that she did."

"And the excitement lasted _—_ " Father stopped, studying the pliers he had just taken out of the box. From where Adrien was standing he could almost hear the words "Pause for effect" going through Father's mind before he continued. "Five, ten minutes?"

Adrien massaged the back of his neck.

"Well _—_ "

Father glanced at him, frowning, pliers in hand.

"It took longer?"

Adrien almost choked while trying to suppress a snort. That, for the record, hadn't been a joke. No matter if it kind of sounded like one. Father was serious. As always. If Adrien started laughing right now the only thing he would get was a very bewildered look.

"It lasted until recess," he finally managed to clarify, a trace of laughter in his voice. "Chloe went around trying to buy votes __and__ to get dirt on Marinette. That was how Sabrina ended diary hunting in her bedroom. I have no idea how she got in there, but when she returned she had this polka-dotted box closed around her hand. Nobody could take it off. Actually, I think Sabrina would still have her hand in there if Marinette could have her way _—_ _ _Father?__ "

He blinked the same instant Adrien called out to him, the burning fire that had taken over his eyes, this curl to his lips that seemed just short of turning into a full-sized grin, fading into nothing as Father went to rub his chin, frowned, and left Adrien to stare at him.

"What are you __thinking__?" he queried, curious.

His answer was a head shake. A head shake and having his attention called back to the amulet Father had on his hands, one he was raising Adrien's way, alongside the pliers he had just taken from the box. If Adrien had, just for a moment, gotten the impression Father had goaded him into telling him about Marinette's diary box, that impression crashed and burned right at that moment. He had both the pliers and the amulet on his hands now. He was looking between them and Father.

"Close the crimp bead," he instructed and Adrien wasn't sure he wanted to know how lost he looked to get that big an eye roll. " _ _The metal piece.__ "

"Right."

He returned the amulet after finishing, attention going over the bruise on Father's wrist when he stopped to frown at Adrien's work. It looked–Actually, now that he got a good look at the wrist, Adrien had to grimace. It looked a lot worse than a week ago. It was black. Swollen. And Adrien had just opened his mouth to comment on it when he was expertly cut off.

"Your idea?" Father asked, back to work on the amulet and leaving Adrien to press his lips. As much as he wanted to speak what was on his mind, however, there was really not much to do other than follow Father's lead.

"Marinette's," Adrien informed, his heart giving this sudden excited jump. "Wait!"

It was a bit of struggle to take Marinette's gift from where he usually kept it and, come to think of it _—_ and at this Adrien had to seriously cringe _—_ it was probably nothing short of a __miracle__ he wasn't made the latest victim of Father's three hour-long lecture on "The Aesthetics of Trouser's Back Pockets and How They are not Meant to Carry **ANYTHING** ." He didn't think he could survive another instance of that. Not without Nathalie picking her notebook and pen and starting to take notes on what Father was saying. That had left Adrien in stitches the first time it had happened. More so for Father's double take at the breakfast table upon finding his own article on __Gabriel__ 's monthly publication.

"Either I hit the jackpot with hiring that girl," he had muttered, skidding through the paragraphs, actually looking quite impressed. "Or I will come to deeply regret it."

He obviously hadn't. Nathalie was still here. Four years on. And sometimes it felt to Adrien she was the only thing in his life that remained constant over that period. After all, Mom was gone and Father _—_ Father was taking the amulet Marinette had made from Adrien's fingers and studying it behind lifeless eyes.

"Blueberry," he commented going over the amulet's end. It seemed to get his seal of approval for he returned the amulet to Adrien, attention back to his present work. What he had meant by saying 'Blueberry', however, didn't get pass Adrien.

"That's my favorite color," he clarified, watching the pliers and side cutter being tossed back inside the box. "But you know that. It is the same color as your gift."

There was something strange to Father's expression all of sudden. In the way he had just glanced his way. But before Adrien could pinpoint what it was, Father had closed the toolbox, picked it up and returned the pink amulet to Adrien's hands without a word. There was little Adrien could do but march behind him as he made his way along the table and back to the open niche.

"So it's not horrible?" Adrien asked again, just to be sure, attention going from the amulet to Father's back. There was a hint of apprehension to his next question. "Do you think she will like it?"

He was back at Father's side now. Watching as he put the toolbox back next to the sewing machine, fingers lingering over its handle for a moment.

"It would be rather silly not to," came the quiet reply. "It's _—_ "

Adrien would never know what Father actually thought. The quiet of the atelier had been shattered. There were voices. Shouting. The clicking of cameras. And right when Adrien turned to the windows to see what on earth was going on, Father's hands closed over his shoulders, pulling him back, the door to their left opening right at that instant giving Adrien the distinct impression Father would have pulled him behind him if the person stepping inside had been anyone other than Nathalie.

"You will be late," she told Adrien and the way she said that sounded like an apology. To whom, however, Adrien was not sure. "Your bodyguard is waiting outside."

"Thanks!" Adrien beamed and he would have jumped back to action right then, he would have been in the car and out the front gate without a second thought and maybe he would never have looked back. The thing was Father still had his hands locked over his shoulders. He hadn't moved an inch. And so Adrien did look back to see him staring at the windows. Towards the press standing on the other side of the iron gates. His expression so dark Adrien was overwhelmed by guilt.

 _ _Oh no.__

 _ _No no no.__

Not __this__.

"Father?"

The calling reached him. Somehow. Even if it took forever. Even if it took even longer for Father to struggle himself into releasing him, for him to step awayand for the Miraculous in Adrien's finger to decide this was the perfect moment to come back to life and tell him just how right Ladybug had been about what it had been trying to tell him all throughout the week. This horrible sensation of dread, of foreboding, washing over his mind, forcing Adrien to bit his lip to be able to keep his focus here, in the atelier and with Father.

"Go to that party of yours," Father was now saying as he stopped near the windows, hands locked behind his back, and maybe it was the Miraculous going insane, but the way the bright morning light washed over Father's beige suit gave Adrien this horrible sensation _—_ _ _that he was fading__.

"You will be here when I come back, __right?"__ he found himself asking, words suddenly forceful. "You will be __here__."

"I'm always here."

Adrien bit his lip. Did he _—_ Did he actually __believe__ that?

"Then, can we do this again?" Adrien asked, taking a step forward, towards the windows, towards Father, trying to ignore the Miraculous biting desperately into his finger if just for a moment longer. "I like talking with you."

Father didn't budge. He remained as he was. Immobile. Furious. And staring down the press.

"Schedule it with Nathalie."

Adrien wouldn't pretend that didn't hurt. It hurt no matter how many times he was dismissed like that. This time, however, he barely had time to drop his head, to stare at the black and white floor, to wonder what he should do, before the glaring difference between all other moments he had been told to 'Schedule it with Nathalie' and the present one, stepped forward. Efficient. Professional. Tablet in hand.

"Your schedule is open for tomorrow, Sir," Nathalie informed and Adrien blinked, watching as she frowned at the display, her index finger moving what must be both his and Father's schedules up and down.

Adrien had completely forgotten she was here.

He couldn't be more grateful that she was.

"As for Adrien's _—_ " Nathalie continued. "School will run late tomorrow but there is still some time once he gets home. Furthermore _—_ " She returned the tablet to her side, going on to face Father's back. Inflexible. "I will like to remind you about the dinner Mlle. Selene interrupted. If I remember correctly, you wished to reschedule it."

Adrien was stunned beyond all words. His chin hanging limp before this thought he must be looking like a fish crossed his mind and he snapped his mouth shut, attention going from Nathalie to Father and back to Nathalie. He wanted to hug her. He wanted to hug so much he didn't care if Father went forward and said no. And he couldn't believe that while he was thinking that, Nathalie could turn his way and misinterpret his expression as much as she did.

"If it is fine by you," she offered, searching his face, sounding uncertain. "It would be after your fencing class."

Adrien didn't get a chance to answer. Father had turned that exact same instant, a penetrating gaze falling on both of them.

"Now there is fencing on __Mondays__?"

It was the strangest thing. The moment Father turned, the moment he was back with them, frowning and impatient and with that dark expression falling away from his eyes, the Miraculous fell __silent__. It rested on Adrien's finger just as if nothing had happened. Like everything was fine.

"One of my colleagues changed schools," Adrien stammered, bewildered, and trying not to look at the ring. "M. D'Agencourt wants to have a strong team for the tournament so we are holding tryouts. He is hoping someone will appear."

Father gave out a scoff. It sounded a lot like 'hoping'. It sounded exactly like 'hoping'. But Adrien didn't have time to dwell on how weird that reaction was. Nathalie was frowning at him, still waiting for her answer and it wasn't until Adrien started nodding with such conviction his head seemed to have been momentarily stuck on a shaker that she went back to Father, locking her eyes with his.

"Afterwards, Sir?" she queried.

Adrien was back to him too. Pleading. He didn't dare to hope, but _—_

Father let out this long exhale.

"If it is feasible," he gave in.

It felt unreal. It felt so unreal Adrien had his head looming over Nathalie's tablet just to be sure of what she was tipping. Just to be sure this was actually happening. That Father had said yes. He had said yes!

"You are still late, Adrien," Nathalie reminded him.

"Right!"

Adrien had just stepped through the threshold, the atrium opening in front of him when he stopped. His attention going back to the atelier and to Father.

"Fingers crossed Hawkmoth won't do anything during the party?"

Father had gone back to glare at the press. Still, Adrien waited. Hand raised and with his fingers crossed. He waited until Father mimicked his gesture.

"Fingers crossed."

Adrien smiled and stepped outside, closing the door behind him before looking between it and the his Miraculous, confused, worried, his bodyguard's head appearing at the door some moments later sending him marching for the car. He would be crossing Place des Vosges, the garden near Marinette's house, alone, when he finally risked letting Plagg out of his shirt.

"Please, tell me that was you."

His query was met by a very innocent looking kwami.

"Me __what__?"

Adrien crossed his arms. He wasn't talking about Plagg __pinching__ him, but he wouldn't have a chance to go ahead and tell him that. Alya and Nino had just turned the corner and Sabine Dupain-Cheng was marching passed all three of them, broom in hand. Adrien would still see her stop menacingly in front of a section of trees before his bodyguard appeared and his mind completely veered away from whatever was happening. As long as it wasn't Hawkmoth, he was rather sure G. could handle it. And so, Adrien joined his classmates and waited until Marinette arrived, followed suit by her very own, very akumatized grandmother and a mess that would push the party well into the night.

When Adrien arrived home, finding Nathalie waiting for him at the entrance, the book she was reading telling him she had long retired _—_ even if the light glaring from under the atelier's door told Father had not _—_ that sensation of impending disaster he had felt in the morning, the way it seemed to be related with Father, would be but a side note in his mind. One once again pulled to the side by him having to jump out of his bedroom window not that much time later.

By morning, crashing into bed alongside Plagg, exhausted enough that he didn't even notice Father had never made his way upstairs last night _—_ and much less Nathalie when she actually did and ended making her way back down seconds later, alone and shaking her head _—_ Adrien would have forgotten it altogether.

 **Nathalie**

One of the butterflies was making its way back, the column of light diving inside the Observatory guiding it on its way down, slowly, gently, wings glowing in the pale morning light.

"I didn't see you arrive," Hawkmoth said, raising one hand to the light, how impossibly white the butterfly was all the more obvious now that it rested on his gloved fingers. "You are early _—_ _ _Nathalie.__ "

Waiting by the Observatory's lift, at first uncertain if those words were meant for her or the arriving butterfly, Nathalie straightened, that last declaration, the exasperated way in which Gabriel seemed to became aware of how ambiguous his words were, making her smile.

"I could say the same," she told him, concern replacing what little of her smile still remained when Gabriel turned away from the window and she got a glimpse of the features hidden by the silver mask. "Have you slept the passed few days?"

"As little or as much as I saw fitted."

Nathalie's eyebrows drew closer.

" _ _Which__ of the two?"

The question was waved away, the torn expression Gabriel had been supporting long before he noticed she was here returning to his face, his lips parted _—_ only for a derisive smile to take the place of his words. Nathalie had seen Gabriel disappear far too many times behind this same expression to hold her silence now.

"You were going to say something," she pointed out, watching the butterfly take flight from his fingers and join the rest of its companions flying overhead. Hawkmoth's cold smile, when she returned to him, had given way this pained gaze. She could see his lips parting, but _—_

"Sir?"

He had turned his back on her, the rooftops around the house and the more distant structure of __Le Tour Eiffel__ falling again under his gaze.

"I was going to ask if you could sense __that,__ " Gabriel informed, gesturing at something outside. "But it is about as pointless a question as the answer you would be forced to give."

Eyes having followed his gesture, Nathalie returned to him, squinting in suspicion, brow furrowed.

"And the __that__ you mention, is _—_?" she even so chose to say and she could see Gabriel close his eyes through the reflection, then, clench his teeth, determined, cane twirling so it would rest on his shoulder.

" _ _That__ is what I wonder," he mused, starting to tap the cane against his shoulder. "I have been sensing this for weeks. I know what __it__ feels. At night. Alone and overthinking. Asking itself if it will ever find a place. But what it is _—_ "

Gabriel fell silent, her next question making his eyes dart to her reflection.

"You can't transform it?"

"It is not a question if I can, as much as if I should," he told her, eyebrows knitting together. "Animals, people, the ones I have transformed in particular, I can tell those apart. However this, it thinks, it feels… __differently__."

Nathalie tilted her head, a note of curiosity reaching her voice.

"You don't think it's __human__?"

"And yet what else could it be? __A machine?__ " Gabriel scoffed at his own hypothesis, turning back to her, the light coming from the round window falling around him. "This thing has __potential__. A push in the right direction and it will fall right into my hands. It might be the key to all of this. It might be the way to finally fix __everything__ and __yet—__ "

The butterflies seemed to have stopped over them, hanging on every word, watching Gabriel's expression twist with fury.

"I almost used it __yesterday__ ," he snapped and Nathalie took a step forward, her heels echoing softly on the dome around them, her expression one of visible concern. "If Adrien and you hadn't been insisting on scheduling that dinner, I would have done it and I wouldn't have cared what happened to me. I wouldn't have regretted it. I wouldn't regret any of _—_!"

Nathalie had closed her hand over Gabriel's arm, the abrupt end to the rant leaving them with their eyes locked.

"This isn't about the Miraculous, is it?" she observed, squeezing his arm tighter when she felt him shiver in answer. "This isn't what you wanted to say."

Gabriel's lips curled.

"I have sometimes wished you weren't __that__ perceptive," he snapped.

"Have you?"

The grayish blue eyes never left hers, they didn't even as their belligerent expression fell apart, something that might have been regret taking its place.

"No," he told her honestly. "Not once."

The shutters slid to cover the window at those words, the fading transformation leaving only Gabriel here with her, attention following the butterflies as they landed around them, eyes closing for a second.

"The press was there yesterday," he finally found it in himself to say. "At Place des Vosges."

Nathalie was left staring.

"They followed __Adrien__ to the __party__?" she stammered. "I was under the impression _—_ "

"That they would leave a child alone?" Gabriel finished for her, back to gazing at the butterflies now resting around their feet. "To frequent public parks is hardly illegal. They are not interacting with him, not touching their cameras _—_ " He stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath. "Apparently, my earlier refusal on granting an interview has them convinced the best way to secure one is to shadow my son and wait for me to appear."

Nathalie's hand closed tighter over his arm.

"How do you know __this__?" she asked, only for a shadow of suspicion to go over her face, her attention slipping towards the butterflies. As obvious as what she was thinking undoubtedly was, she hadn't expected Gabriel to shoot it down right away.

"That wasn't the butterflies," he said. "That young lady's mother and that bodyguard of Adrien's were weeding out a pair of photographers from behind the bushes all through the night. They made the mistake of asking them when I was to pick him up."

Nathalie pressed her lips.

"Mdm. Dupain-Cheng called," she easily concluded, taking her phone from her jacket, a glance at the display ending with Gabriel shaking his head.

"It was well passed your work hours. It wouldn't have gone to you."

"May I ask what was that she said?" Nathalie queried, returning the phone to her pocket. "I assume she was worried about her _—_ "

It came in a sudden flash, the memory of a woman with peaceful brown eyes leaning next to the car's passenger window. Nathalie closed her eyes. A pang of guilt tugging at her heart.

"She was worried about Adrien," she whispered.

"She was worried," Gabriel concurred, his voice dropping lower and lower. "Asking if I wished he stayed there for the night. Giving assurances he would be safe _—_ _ _Safe."__

He closed his eyes, shaking his head.

"There was only ever one thing I was any good at," he said, his voice so low it was barely there. "Whatever happened, I could always keep him safe. Now _—_ "

Gabriel looked around, towards the white butterflies and the window, towards the cold metal walls, fingers closing around the Miraculous, eyes so hate-filled it was clear he meant to rip it out _—_

If only he had.

The moment passed. The fire died out. And rejoining Gabriel on the sunny atelier just seconds later, there was nothing Nathalie could do other than quench the remaining flames.

"I doubt Mdm. Dupain-Cheng meant her offer as a slight against you," she put forth, eyes following Gabriel as he picked one of his designs he had been clearly working on during the night, the sorrow her expression was so reluctant to show clear on that of the small kwami she failed to notice peeking from the shelves to her left. "She hardly seems the type."

A glance her way and Gabriel raised the sketch to the light.

"Your justification?"

"Her daughter."

Her answer came in the form of a snort. Putting the sketch back on the desk, Gabriel picked up his usual white and red scarf from where he had left it on the work area.

"Adrien's little __admirer__ , you mean," he said, putting it on, cruel amusement giving way to something sharper. "She has a diary, you know. Locked away inside this 'magic box' she made."

Nathalie raised her eyebrows.

"A magic box?"

"That was what Adrien called it," Gabriel told her, making sure the Miraculous was out of sight before continuing. "Quite the devilish little contraption. A trap of sorts. I wonder _—_ "

The beige jacket slid off his shoulders, being dropped onto the U-shaped sofa running around the desk. Whatever Gabriel might be thinking, however, whatever he meant to say, was cut short by him reaching to unbutton his sleeves and stopping, frowning at his injured wrist, clearly trying to see a way to bypass it.

Nathalie had sighed, gone down the small flight of stairs and stopped at his side before he reached the obvious solution.

"If I may."

She allowed herself a grimace upon taking his hand in hers. The question of how much worse he intended this to get crossing her mind before she shook her head. Having that discussion, __again__ , would get them nowhere.

"You wonder?" Nathalie therefore queried, fingers going over the small buttons. "About the diary?"

She ended up raising her attention at Gabriel's silence, eyes meeting the grayish blue ones studying her, their mute question making her drop her eyes.

"I fear I am about to disappoint you," Nathalie said, back to the sleeve. "Fifteen-year-old-Nathalie is of no help to you for starters. She never had a diary."

"Never?"

"No. She _—_ " Nathalie hesitated, fingers hovering over the small buttons for a moment, then returning to work. "She preferred to keep her heart with the only person it was safe with."

"Who was that?"

Her chest tightened, the quiet curiosity to Gabriel's tone making her fingers close around the fabric of his shirt, holding on to him, holding on to this man who hadn't been with her back then _—_ whom she hadn't even known existed. Her voice, when she finally found it, was little more than a whisper.

"Myself."

They didn't talk for a long while after that. Gabriel's index finger tapping on the red fabric of his trousers as she busied herself with his other sleeve, unbuttoning it, rolling it up. It wasn't until the feeling of warm fingers touching her chin, nudging it up, finally brought her back to the present that Nathalie looked up.

"You haven't changed much," Gabriel commented and the quiet gentleness to his words made her smile, albeit sadly, gaze resting on his.

"I have," she heard herself say, fingers lingering on his hand one last moment, before she let him go. "I changed a lot."

Her attention dropped to the floor, left hand closing over nothing as she made her away back to the atelier's upper level, gathering herself and turning to face Gabriel. Her expression vacant. All emotion gone.

"Still, if I understand your intentions correctly," she told him, starting to make her way to her desk. "I must inform you that in getting your hands in this diary, it is very probable that the only information you will gain is a whole lot of nonsense about boys."

Gabriel's eyebrows jumped up.

" _ _Boys?__ "

"Possibly one in particular," Nathalie told him, picking up the small pile of papers over her desk and turning to find Gabriel pressing the bridge of his nose. "Is there a problem?"

Gabriel dropped his hand that same instant. Fuming.

"W _ _hy__ would she have her reveries about _**_boys_**_ locked away in a high security puzzle box?!"

"It's important at that age," Nathalie simply stated, only to have this __look__ thrown her way while she confirmed Gabriel's signature on the papers.

"You know what this is about," he said.

"I do," she confirmed, dropping the papers on the scanner lying next to the wall, her expression hard when she looked back to him. "You suspect she might have written about being Ladybug on it."

Gabriel had his arms cross now.

" _ _And?__ "

"It is possible, of course," Nathalie answered, pensive, and all the while double-clicking one of the icons on her computer desktop. "I assume having a makeshift safe would give her a sense of security."

"But," Gabriel pushed through.

"But _—_ "

The scanner jumped to live just in time for her rebuttal.

"It is my opinion," Nathalie said. "That it would be unwise, not to say dangerous, to have something telling of her feats as Ladybug lying around. Worse yet to write them down."

"She is young," Gabriel offered.

"That doesn't have to make her silly __or__ rash," Nathalie replied, offering half an eye to the scanned documents that were popping on the screen. "The Ladybug you describe to me is neither of those things."

Gabriel frowned, pensive, gaze slipping away to the painting at the other end of the atelier and the woman pictured there. His silence left Nathalie to step back, allowing him his time, alone, until he found it in himself to come back.

"You worry I will be disappointed by this diary," Gabriel finally stated, finding her sitting at her desk, typing. "I almost wish that I am. I would much rather have that girl daydreaming about some crush than standing in my path."

Nathalie's fingers failed to hit the keys in any way that made sense. She was staring at Gabriel now, eyes wide with surprise, a small smile finding its way to her lips.

"You do like her," she whispered, softly, hopefully, voice going back to its usual professional tone when Gabriel frowned at her. "And I assume we will get her diary either way."

"If we can concoct some way of doing that," he agreed, a grin taking over his expression. "She borrowed something of mine. It is only right I return the favor."

Nathalie shook her head, going back to writing the e-mail. She would like to say this surprised her, but there was very little that still did.

"Was that the reason for your attempt during the party?" she queried, hitting send and stepping towards the trolley to grab one of the archives waiting on it. "Marinette's diary?"

Gabriel's grin faded, an alarmed expression taking its place.

" _ _How?!__ "

The answer seemed to run him down the same instant.

" _ _Adrien!"__ he exclaimed. "I wondered why you were reading in the atrium. I assume he told you the essential, it saves me having to share it."

Nathalie raised her eyebrows, archive on her hands.

"Did you intend to?"

"No," Gabriel admitted and the word hanged between them, its brusque honesty somehow managing to be at the same time better and worse than if he had just simply stood there and lied.

"Yet, for what it's worth," Gabriel continued. "I didn't know whose grandmother that woman was or that she would make a beeline for that party the instant I transformed her. Still, __yes__. Getting that diary was exactly my intention." His tone became aggravated. "It goes without saying I wasn't successful."

"The butterflies couldn't find this box?"

"No. And I couldn't risk someone going back to the house and finding them in that girl's room," Gabriel hissed. "If she is Ladybug there is only one thing connecting that sort of intrusion and Hawkmoth and Emilie's __grimoire__ would lead her straight back to me. And even if she isn't that bug _—_ "

Gabriel didn't get to finish. The same moment the words left his lips they turned into a sharp intake of breath and Gabriel was on the move up the stairs, his fingers already over the painting combination when he stopped and looked back. Panting. Snarling. Eyes on the press beyond the gates.

" _ _Those blasted vultures!__ " he snapped, right hand clawed around the white and red scarf, the shudders running down his body becoming as clear as day now that Nathalie had made her way back to his side. "What must I do for them to understand they are not _—_?!"

 _ _Welcomed__ , didn't make it passed his lips either. The phone beeping inside Nathalie's jacket pocket, her fingers immediately diving to pick it up, leaving Gabriel to press his eyes.

"Who is it?"

"Adrien."

And she would ask him to speak in plain French if he wasn't already. Her confusion as she read and reread the message such that Gabriel pressed his fingers to the top of the phone, making it lean in his direction. The display rotated. He went back to press his eyes almost the same moment.

"The Sous-Plastron is an underarm protector," he informed her, fighting to get his voice back to its normal unreadable tone. "For fencing. The jacket has this seam _—_ "

The phone pinged again. The sound leaving Gabriel to roll his eyes.

"Go put the fire out."

"Of course."

She would remind herself to thank Adrien later. For distracting Gabriel. For occupying his mind with something that wasn't the Miraculous or the press. And for a whole lot more she couldn't tell him. That in no way should he know. Still, the brunt of her cold professionalism allowed for little but a raised eyebrow when she marched upstairs and entered Adrien's room, his absence leading her straight into his closet _—_ and what looked like the Somme.

"I would remind you that school starts in half an hour," Nathalie pointed out, eyebrows raised in surprise, attention running over pile after pile of clothes before it reached the blond boy standing among the disaster. "Regardless of your wardrobe's apparent __implosion__."

Adrien jumped away from the drawers he was going over, shoving the large pile of t-shirts he had on his hands randomly back inside.

"I swear it wasn't like this before!" he groaned, jumping over what appeared to be crumpled jeans and, for some reason, socks, to approach her. "It is never like this. I can't find my _—_ It's this white protection for my weapon arm. It looks like half a jacket. I swear I have searched for it __everywhere!__ "

Nathalie would be fishing it from the pile of clean clothes to her left in less than ten seconds, and watching Adrien's incredulous growl turn into a sprint when his alarm went off on the bedroom and he ran passed her, Sous-Plastron in hand.

"Your father will be waiting for you at seven," Nathalie called after him, watching him shove the protection inside the sports bag he had over his bed and continue full on sprinting for the door. "Dinner is at eight."

There was this huge smile on Adrien's face as he looked back, right before disappearing out the door.

"I haven't forgotten!"

Nathalie shook her head, moving to exit the bedroom and almost getting run over when Adrien jumped back inside.

"Thank you," he said, stopping for a moment, one hand raised her way. "Fingers crossed we find some new people for the team?"

There was no way she could have kept herself from smiling.

"I'm keeping them crossed," Nathalie said and this time Adrien did leave, stepping into the courtyard with his bodyguard and his fencing bag, looking happy beyond words.

If only Nathalie had known how this day would end. That in less than an a pair of hours, a girl whom Gabriel would call Riposte would be rampaging through the city with Adrien caught right in the middle of her fury. If only she had known what would happen, then maybe...

But Nathalie didn't know. And watching Adrien until the car made its way out of the gates, disappearing beyond the walls, it wouldn't be until much later that this moment would replay in her mind and Nathalie would understand that __this__ was when everything started going wrong.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

After a long hiatus, we are back! And first off, let me thank you all so much for not having given up on this story. Let's just say RL got in the way of writing big time and this part of the chapter put so much of a fight I become stuck in it for ages. So really, thank you so much for still being here.

But on to the good news! The chapter "The Painted Lady," where we are now, actually has four parts and the next two ones are mostly written ;) so we are on a sane publishing schedule for once and I will see you next time!

(And, of course, any comments will mean the world!)


	5. The Painted Lady - Part 2

**The Painted Lady**

(part 2)

 **Adrien**

Collège Françoise Dupont's inner courtyard was empty, the clinking of sabers and squeaking of shoes that should be rising from its fencing team's practice, absent, the only clue to its participants present whereabouts the sound of muffled laughter coming from of the most unsuspecting place on campus: the school library.

As improbable as that location might sound for a fencing team, it was indeed its members' good-humored voices that climbed up to echo around the long row of low hanging lamps, their footsteps that rose between bookcases and desks, their excited cheers that filled the space every time a race broke out between some of the boys and they sprinted for the organized piles of books that stood over a makeshift counter. The group's competitive spirit was such most didn't even notice the lonely girl who stood behind that same counter or the way her lips parted every time they approached her, forming words that never reached her voice.

Still, she was here. Blue-eyed, black-haired, her anxious gaze going to the bag hanging against her hip every time the rambunctious group failed to notice her, a timid chuckle crossing her lips when a whispered cheer of _—_

"Marinette! Marinette!"

—camefrom the kwami that was hiding inside her bag.

One wouldn't be lying when saying Tikki was the only person keeping Marinette focused in sorting through the window-high mess of books that laid near the library's entrance. If it wasn't for the kwami's presence, Marinete would have long stood frozen next to them, waiting with her heart in a knot for a particular boy to come her way, to talk to him, rather than keep at organizing the piles the group tidying up the library had taken to run around with.

Not that Marinette was paying enough attention to the boys' antics to mind. The question that was on the tip of her tongue was like a hot rod in her mind. It consumed her. And it wasn't until she turned away from the books she was pilling to find one of her present companions alone and leaning against the counter, curly brown hair falling to his eyes and waiting for her to come with the books, that she got to jog up to the counter and ask it.

"Have you seen Adrien?" Marinette queried, attention going from the bookcases to the library's entrance that was right at her side and from there back to the boy she was talking to. "Has he left?"

The boy—tall, slender and probably a little older than her—looked over his shoulder before turning, eyebrows raised in an arch.

"Left?" he snorted, going to lean over the counter and point over his shoulder with his thumb. "He is down at the back with a three-bookcase advantage. He is seriously going to win our competition."

Marinette tilted her head.

"Competition?"

"For filling the bookcases again," he clarified, a mischievous gleam filling his brown eyes when a tall, lean man with a carefully curled handlebar mustache walked by, frowning all around. "I can tell you M. D'Agencourt is __not__ finding it funny _—_ "

 _ _"__ _ ** **M. Moreau! M. Thomas!****_ _ _"__

Marinette's companion snorted, going back to stand with his back against the counter to watch as the fencing instructor made a beeline towards two of his colleagues, who had taken to throw books at each other __while standing on ladders.__

"Case in point," he said, winking at a now chuckling Marinette. "I'm Claude, by the way," the boy presented himself, watching her make her way to fetch the books she had just organized. The pile that ended in his hands forced him to stretch his neck to be able to see above it to Marinette.

"Do you need help?"

"I wouldn't mind," Marinette admitted in a timid whisper. "Those are Vs."

"Agreste it is!" Claude announced and gave her this playful salute with two fingers before stepping away, moving down one of the library's aisles. At his retreat, Marinette dropped to crouch behind the counter, opening the bag that hid Tikki, anxious blue eyes meeting the kwami's.

"Do you think Adrien is mad at me?"

"Why would he be mad at __you?"__ Tikki replied, watching Marinette bit her lower lip. "That Riposte hurt him was not your fault!"

"Wasn't it?" Marinette whispered, voice tremulous. "I think it was."

And she got back up again, trying to keep an eye on Claude, trying to pinpoint where he was going _—_ where Adrien was _—_ at least until Claude turned the corner further down the bookcase-flanked corridor he had chosen to go down of, disappeared from view, and Marinette had no choice but to go back to organizing books. Crestfallen.

Still, despite Marinette's present anxiety-ridden mood and the antics of Collège Françoise Dupont's fencing team, their efforts to tidy-up the library were anything but in vain. The place looked a lot better now than it had been a mere hour ago and the path Claude took, while whistling cheerfully, spoke of that. There were no more fallen bookcases or scattered books, the disastrous aftermath of the match between Adrien and Kagami _—_ a girl who had appeared for the fencing trials today—having already been mostly covered up.

Not that Claude could see __any of it__ with the pile of books he was carrying raised high in front of his face. In fact, the carefully filled bookcases around him completely flew under his radar and, as far as Adrien was concerned, __that__ was just as well for otherwise he would have been caught kneeling over one knee, folding one of his jeans' legs, whispering into a bookcase shelf—and jumping like a startled cat the second he heard footsteps behind him.

"More Vs!" Claude announced while putting the pile over the already overloaded chair that was right at Adrien's side. "Still winning, Agreste!"

It might be that Adrien had just seen his life flash before his eyes or that his heart was beating like mad, but he couldn't help but think his laughter sounded a little off. Okay, it sounded completely off! What on earth was this?! It sounded like he had unlearned how to breathe! Or a whistle! Oh boy, that was it! He sounded like he had swallowed a whistle! And the instant Claude turned the corner, going back to fetch more books, leaving Adrien to himself, Adrien was groaning _ _,__ one hand running through his hair, the __cackling__ that started to echo from inside the half-filled bookcase behind him making him roll his eyes.

"That's one big help, Plagg," Adrien tossed at the laughing kwami. A vigilant glance around later, however _ _,__ and he had again dropped to one knee in front of the wooden bookcase, gone back to a seemingly serious Plagg on the lowermost shelf _—_ and apparently Plagg had laughed so hard he now had to stand near a row of books drying his eyes _—_ and started to fold his jeans' leg back up.

"So, what do you think?" Adrien now asked, pain turning his expression into a grimace when he took a steadying breath, grabbed the top of a white sock and pulled it down. "You can be honest with me."

What he was showing Plagg _—_ an ankle that was twice the size it should be and very __very__ black _—_ made the kwami go from drying his eyes in mirth to physically recoil.

"Oh boy, that looks bad!" Plagg cringed, hovering closer to the books, almost as if he intended to cover the vision of Adrien's ankle by hiding behind them. "It looks so __so__ bad!"

"I know it looks __bad__ ," Adrien replied with a dismissive eye roll and glanced over his shoulder, towards the aisles running behind him, before turning back to the bookshelf and Plagg. "I meant, can you fix it?"

"Of course, I can fix it!" Plagg croaked, a grimace going over his cat-like features as he swallowed hard, looked left and right and risked leaving the bookcase's cover. He was hovering in front of Adrien's leg now, one hand stretching until he touched it. If Adrien had been bracing himself for the pain _—_ which he __had__ , expression already tense _—_ he actually sighed with relief when a feeling of warmth enveloped his ankle. Whatever Plagg was doing, however, and regardless of how much Adrien wished he wouldn't stop, eventually came to an end.

"Well, it is not broken!" Plagg immediately announced, zooming back inside the bookcase and going to lean against a copy of Jules Verne's __Around the World in 80 Days__ in a very carefree manner. "I will have that ankle back to normal first thing in the mor _—_!"

" _—_ _ _ning?"__ Adrien finished, more than a little disheartened and all the while watching Plagg as he remained there, one shoulder leaning against the illustration of Phileas Fogg's hot air ballon, tapping his own chin, an apologetic look being given his way.

"I will have it fixed provided Hawkmoth lets you rest," Plagg offered, going back to his upbeat tone when confronted with Adrien's despair. "The man has to rest too, right?! I don't know how he managed to keep this up for months, but sooner or later he is going to hit the ground! __Hard!__ A bunch of attacks during the night and he is up and ready to go a few hours later?" Plagg cackled. "Nooroo isn't low maintenance me! Not with all those butterflies and the empathy and the _—_ "

Adrien shook his head while pulling his jeans' leg down to cover his ankle. He was rather sure this would be all important and interesting any other day, but at this moment, he was standing in the school library, with his fencing teammates coming and going at random, three different aisles running behind his back and he was stressed enough with the state of his ankle to go about thinking about Hawkmoth.

"I was asking if you can you fix this __now__ ," Adrien clarified, turning to the chair where Claude had put the books he had brought and the many many more that laid around it, least someone turned the corner and saw him _—_ Well, he supposed given the situation it would look like he was talking with a bookcase. But back to what mattered.

"My foot got better when we were fighting Riposte!"

"Well, you got incredibly lucky Hawkmoth stopped her after she attacked the car, didn't you?" Plagg remarked, hovering away from the book he was still leaning against when Adrien signaled at him to step aside. "If he hadn't, Riposte could have seriously hurt you. And it was enough that she kept attacking you after that, I wasn't letting you get impaled because you hurt your foot!"

That was very good to know, but _—_

"Whatever you did back then," Adrien started to say while putting books on the lower shelves. "Please, do it __again__."

"No."

" _ _Plagg!__ "

"It will just get worse!"

"It doesn't matter," Adrien maintained, determined, and now shuffling around the entirety of Jules Verne's works so that they would be in order. "Please, Plagg, if Father sees this he will confine me to bed!"

Plagg snorted, eyes twinkling.

"You make your father sound so much worse than he actually is!"

"I am not making him sound __worse__ ," Adrien retorted, slightly annoyed. "That is exactly how he is!"

" _ _Right,__ " Plagg croaked and he went to hold the books Adrien had been organizing in position, attention following Adrien as he started going over the rest of the books near the chair, flipping through them, reading their dates. "Remember last time? When you thought you were going to end up with four bodyguards? I keep seeing the __one__."

"Give him time," Adrien remarked, ominously, and only for Plagg to roll his eyes.

"So your father is a worrier," he said, getting out of the way of the new book Adrien was putting in the shelf. "What is so bad about that?"

"He is not just a __worrier__!" Adrien replied in desperation and while going back and forth to get more books to the shelves. "I know him better than you do, Plagg! And if you let Father build a head of steam, he will go completely overboard!"

Plagg crossed his arms, giving a penetrating glance to Adrien's injured ankle.

"And I wonder why."

"I'm serious!" Adrien pushed through, leaning forward and getting so close to Plagg he practically had his head inside the shelf where the kwami was. "I can't go around like __this.__ I don't want Father to worry for starters. But there is the fencing tournament and _—_ "

"M. Agreste."

Adrien banged his head on the top shelf at the calling, a quiet _"_ _ _ouch"__ crossing his lips as he went straight and looked back to see M. D'Agencourt's lean figure standing on the aisle behind him. How odd it was seeing him dressed in a coat and trousers _—_ rather than in a fencing suit and carrying a saber _—_ registered for what must be the up-tenth time in Adrien's mind before M. D'Agencourt spoke, and Adrien shoved the last books inside the bookshelf.

"Your ride is here."

"Thanks!"

Adrien signaled at Plagg to hide inside his shirt as he rose, the limp that would have otherwise broken his stride disappearing completely as he walked by M. D'Agencourt and then across the library, going by bookcase after bookcase and passed some his teammates. He had just reached the pile of school and sports bags near the entrance and leaned to get his out of there when a playful cry of _—_

"Your lead will crumble before me, Agreste!"

 _—_ made him turn back towards the library to find Cédric perched on top of a ladder, putting books on a bookcase's upper shelf.

"It isn't over until it's completely over!" Adrien tossed at him, in the same tone, laughter exploding from his chest when Cédric jumped to his feet on top of the ladder and started wielding the book he had on his hands like a sword.

"It's over for you _—_!"

" **M. Blanchard!** "

Adrien scampered out of the way. M. D'Agencourt's outraged cry at Cédric's present feat making him so intent on escaping the incoming scolding that he didn't even remember Marinette too was here, that he didn't see her rise from behind the desk right by the door, looking at him with hopeful eyes, and then dropping her head as he left.

It was only when Adrien was halfway across the school, walking over the school's metal walkways _—_ pain making his limp become more and more pronounced at each passing second _—_ that he finally pulled his shirt to the side to talk to Plagg and found him looking down, straight at Adrien's foot, arms crossed.

"How do you intend to hide this from your Father during family time tonight?" Plagg queried, looking up at him. As an answer, Adrien smiled, unconcerned.

"I actually have tons of things to tell him this time, you know?" he said, happy despite his present pained grimace. "I will just sit right through it. Easy."

Plagg's left ear twitched, it made Adrien sigh.

"Look," he said, stopping for a moment to massage his ankle and then continuing, uneven footsteps echoing in the school's empty courtyard. "I promise I will tell Nathalie about this first thing after dinner is over. She will know what to do. She always does. But Father __can't__ know. Or find out about Hawkmoth and Riposte. And you know, how I got super involved in that fight? He will get __worried.__ And when Father is worried, he starts getting angry. Three seconds into that and __no one__ can reason with him."

Adrien sighed at those words, then looked around, making sure he was alone before opening his school bag to let Plagg inside.

"I really __really__ want to spend time with Father, Plagg," he said, watching the kwami fly inside and sit on his cardboard box near the school books, deep green eyes gleaming like sapphires. "Will you help me? __Please__?"

Plagg crossed his arms, lips pressed together.

"Is not caring you are hurt supposed to be some kind of cute family resemblance between you and your father?" he remarked, voice rising muffled from inside the bag when Adrien let the lid fall back in place. "Because this isn't cute at all!"

Adrien shook his head, taking a deep steadying breath in front of the stairs before stepping forth, careful as to always land on his good foot as he made his way down and towards the car, the slowly fading pain allowing him to sigh in relief.

 _ _Thanks, Plagg.__

Adrien would just go ahead and __pretend__ he hadn't heard the kwami's last remark.

 **Gabriel**

Gabriel was sitting at the atelier's center desk, head sank into one hand, his breathing coming in short controlled gasps that shivered every time he lost his focus. He had no idea what time it was now, even if he had his cellphone right at his side. He didn't know how long he had been here, in this exact position, and he didn't care. In truth, the only thing telling him the world hadn't all but abandoned him _—_ and how he wished that it had _—_ were Nathalie's comings and goings. The sound of the trolley as she returned from the vault. The sound of typing. Her voice as she thought out loud. And then _—_ _ _then__ the words he had been expecting the entire day, an announcement he dreaded more than anything.

"Adrien is here."

Gabriel was up the same moment, walking along the center desk, the designs he should be working on, the ones he hadn't been able to focus on the entire afternoon, left behind _—_ just like Emilie in her golden portrait _—_ as he came to a stop near Nathalie's desk, watching the car that was bringing Adrien back to the house go by the journalists piled by the gate, then under the entrance's arch and around the front courtyard. Every single one of those landmarks made Gabriel swallow, trying to push down the pressure around his throat.

"Is something wrong?" he heard Nathalie ask, the sound of typing raising alongside her voice even as she glanced his way. "You have been looking unwell the entire afternoon."

Gabriel kept his attention outside. With the car. Not looking her way.

"M. Agreste?"

"It's that __thing__ again," Gabriel chose to answer Nathalie's concern with, his mind touching a distant emotional print he hadn't even been aware of until now. "Our mystery creature. It's becoming recurrent at this time."

Nathalie turned on her chair at his words, the pile of invoices she was copying to the financial report in front of her set aside, the note of distress in her voice making Gabriel's Miraculous shiver as she leaned his way.

"We have discussed that __thing__ more than once," she reminded him. "You agreed it was too __dangerous—__ "

"It's perfectly alright," Gabriel cut through, raising one hand to stop Nathalie before she could continue. "I have no intention of using it. I just _—_ "

There had been a shiver to his words just before Gabriel stopped himself from speaking, his attention going back to the car going around the courtyard, then to the floor. Through the corner of his eyes, he could still see Nathalie studying his face, her expression worried:

"If you would rather not leave Mme. Agreste alone for so long, I can go down," she said in a gentle tone and the offer made Gabriel raise his eyes from the floor to meet the blue ones looking at him.

"I was under the impression you didn't feel comfortable down there," he noted, only vaguely aware of the way Nathalie's attention followed his outside, of how she watched the car stop and Adrien jump out with his bags, then start to make his way to the house, walking backwards, talking with his bodyguard.

"This isn't about me being comfortable," Nathalie told him and she rose from her chair, stepping away from Gabriel, her heels echoing on the atelier's black and white floor, the lift taking her down leaving Gabriel all alone.

"Thank you, Nathalie," he whispered and even if Emilie wasn't what was haunting him today, even if what __was__ was indeed a lot worse, Gabriel got to his feet and made his way to the living room, stepping inside to find Adrien already sitting on the living area near the fireplace, a huge smile on his face.

"You will never guess what happened today!"

Gabriel was rather sure he would given the chance, that there was nothing in what Adrien was about to tell him that he didn't know already. But taking his place near the mantelpiece, Gabriel listened. He listened like he once had. Pretending he didn't know. Waiting for the inevitable. For Riposte. For Hawkmoth. For his demons.

He waited.

And thirty minutes in Gabriel had given in to a simple fact. When Adrien had told him he would never guess what had happened, he was actually, completely, __right__.

 **Adrien**

"It was __her__ , wasn't it?" Adrien was asking, excited, eyes never leaving his father as he made his way back to stand by the mantelpiece, frowning at the phone he had just been given, thumb running the images up and down. "That was Tsuruga Tomoe's daughter!"

There was a moment of silence before the answer, a moment so long, Adrien stood there fearing Father's only contribution to their conversation would be silence. That he would do nothing more than listen like he used to do with Mom. But in the end, the empty expression Father had been supporting since entering the living room gave way, something that might be curiosity making its way to his eyes.

"It seems to stand that she was," he commented, in a quiet tone, and that he had gotten an answer left Adrien beaming, arms resting over his knees, attention going from Father as he was in the portrait over the mantelpiece, a gentle smile on his face, and Father as he stood with him now, eyes resting on the phone.

"Tsuruga-san is a fencer," Adrien offered.

"Was," came the answer. "I remember watching some of her matches when I was your age."

"What did you think of her?"

It was as if Adrien's question had woken Father to the fact that Gabriel Agreste, Fashion Designer, had graced the world by speaking. He glanced up that very moment. Rolling his eyes at himself before continuing.

"She is a world champion, son, there is not much to be said," he put forth, only to give a long exhale at Adrien's expectant expression. "She is gifted. Even if extremely rigid. Conventional. Far to attached to the right form and rules. Still, I assume they served her well. She went far."

Father stopped with that, dropping his eyes, and Adrien didn't know what was up with him today but it almost looked like he thought he had spoken too much already.

"I'm assuming her daughter takes after her."

Of course that Adrien's concern about Father's weird behavior crashed and burned the instant he was given the word back.

"She is insanely good!" he exclaimed, excited. "Can you believe we kept getting nulls against each other? It reached a point M. D'Agencourt took the cords out! Of course, it got a little out of control after that and we ended up in the library, made half of the bookcases fall _—_ "

Father had just found a reason strong enough to take his eyes off whatever it was he had chosen to look at on Adrien's tennis shoes.

" _ _What?!__ "

"I swear I helped put everything back in its place, before I _—_!"

Adrien didn't finish, his eyes were widening. He suddenly felt like he had forgotten something important. Back at the library. Hadn't there been _—_? Horror flashed through his face.

"I didn't say goodbye to Marinette!" he exclaimed, not even noticing how knitted Father's eyebrows were when he spoke.

"What was that young lady doing there?"

"I think she was curious," Adrien simply stated, while pressing both sides of his head. "I can't believe I didn't say anything to her! She must be thinking I'm worst friend ever!"

There was an eye roll being aimed at him from near the mantelpiece. An eye roll, a head shake and this barely audible whisper of "dramatic" that made Adrien toss himself into the pillows behind him.

"You can't call me dramatic over every little thing!" Adrien groaned and he swore he could see Father raise his eyebrows even as he kept his eyes firmly on the ground, the very clear _"_ _ _Can't I?"__ going through his face leaving Adrien to press his lips.

" _ _Anyway__ ," he said, not sparing Father a glare. "Marinette was the one who managed to follow us to the library. She was there when Kagami won the round, but she thought it was me. So _—_ Can you guess what M. D'Agencourt did?"

Father seemed to be taken aback by being pulled back into the conversation. He stood there for a long moment, visibly waiting for Adrien to continue. Visibly __hoping__ he would continue. Then, when none of those things happened, he let out a sigh.

"He sent her away."

"Yeah! And she must be the best fencer I ever meet!" Adrien exclaimed, incredulous. "I mean, except for M. D'Agencourt, of course."

 _ _And Hawkmoth__ , a very uninvited voice chimed in.

"I really hope he changes his mind," Adrien continued and if said he wasn't a tad bit annoyed Hawkmoth had made it into his 'Best Fencers' list, he would be lying. "It would be great to have her on the team. Can you imagine if I got to practice with her? I would learn so much!"

Father's expression softened, even as his eyes remained stuck on Adrien's feet.

"Armand is not one to turn his back on talent," he said. "Less so when it rains out of the sky. It usually does with him."

Those were good news. Or they would have been, if Adrien hadn't become lost in the details somewhere in the beginning.

"Armand?" he stuttered. "You know M. D'Agencourt?"

This was probably not the best way to address it. Adrien could already see every single path, nook and crevice Father could use to avoid an answer. So _—_ and at this, he grinned _—_ time to cut him off.

"I don't mean 'know him' like __knowing him—__ " Adrien said. "He is an Olympic fencer, everyone knows him. I meant, if you know him in person."

Father frowned. He seemed to ponder if he should trust Adrien, which after the stunt with the safe and Mom's book, Adrien wasn't that sure he would _—_ until he spoke.

"I might have."

And Adrien was at the edge of his seat the same instant.

"Where from? You went to the same school?"

It was as far as he was getting. Father was visibly shutting himself off again and Adrien sat straight on the armchair. He had to say something _—_ anything _—_ to keep him here with him. And, for once, that came rather easily.

"Have I told I made it into the team?" Adrien blurted out. "For the tournament?"

Father raised his eyes to him. This time he really did. And, as much as Father didn't look even slightly surprised, there was something in his eyes that might be pride.

"You did?"

"Isn't it cool? I haven't even been at school a year," Adrien continued. "So I have the individual classification and the team classification. I really have to look at the timetables to know where to be _—_ "

Adrien stopped, apprehension suddenly taking hold of his mind.

"You will be there, right?" he asked, while leaning forward. "We always went together."

There was this moment, no more than a second, when Adrien was sure Father would say yes. He could see it crossing his expression, this burst of irritation like he couldn't understand the reason for such a question _—_ and then, then recalled it, what that reason was, and Adrien could see him retreating. He could see Father __go away__.

"I can't promise that."

Adrien dropped his head, eyes now resting on the beige carpet. Yeah, this was what he had been fearing.

"Right," he said, trying not to sound too disappointed. "So, the tournament _—_ "

"I will try to be there."

Adrien's eyes widened, his head snapping back up so fast he was still on time to see his father's eyes fleeing from him. To see him go back to talk without looking at him like had become their new normal. Only this time, for the very first time, Adrien didn't care if he looked at him or not. He didn't care at all. He hadn't said no and Adrien was up. He was up and he was going to _—_

Pain cut through his injured ankle the same instant Adrien jumped to his feet, climbing up his leg as he made a gesture to run to his father.

He had forgotten.

He had __completely__ forgotten!

And at that moment, panic going through his mind, the floor rushing his way, the part of him that was Chat Noir regardless of him being transformed or not, threatening to come to his rescue and screw everything up, Adrien found out two things.

That his father had insanely fast reflexes.

And just how much he struggled to call out for help.

 **Nathalie**

"I will remind you I am not a nurse," Nathalie was making clear to Gabriel for what, she feared, must be the millionth time since she had started working for him. "I have no idea what I am doing."

"You don't need to know what you are doing," Gabriel snapped, curtly. "Just tell me what you __think__."

" _ _I think__ , Sir, that we should call a doctor."

Sitting on the armchair both she and Gabriel were kneeling in front of, the entirety of the living room's black and white cushions pilled behind his back and with his right foot resting on his father's knee, Adrien rolled his eyes at the ongoing conversation, his try at blowing a strand of hair out of his face seeing it immediately fall back in place.

"It is __just__ a sprain," he told them, leaning his head into one hand and for a moment sounding about as dismissive as Gabriel when some disaster befell him. "I have had these before. It is never as bad as it looks."

 _ _Never,__ he said _ _.__ Nathalie had to shake her head. To think that Adrien might actually sound convincing if his ankle could stand by his words _—_ not to mention him. In fact, lifting the bag of ice she was holding against his feet, seeing how swollen it was, Nathalie had to stand in awe of how he had managed to sneak this inside without anyone being any the wiser.

"Can you even move your foot?" she queried.

"I __walked__ here," Adrien pointed out. "I'm telling you, it is not that _—_ _ _Nathalie!__ "

Her head snapped up. The alarmed note to Adrien's voice, followed by him trying to reach out for Gabriel _—_ no matter if his father was an arm's length too far for Adrien to be able to get to him _—_ made her turn to Gabriel and immediately grab hold of his shoulder. For a man who had once sewed through one of his fingers while working at a sewing machine and proceeded to solve what he called a _'_ _ _common enough work hazard'__ with pliers _—_ not to mention sticking plaster _—_ and all of that without batting an eye, Adrien's ankle seemed about to make him hit the floor.

"M. Agreste, please __sit__."

Gabriel took a deep breath instead.

"That is unnecessary."

"I beg to differ," Nathalie replied in a penetrating tone, attention falling on the grounding way Gabriel's left hand went to squeeze his bruised wrist, then jumping back up to see pain flashing through his face. Her nails immediately bit into his shoulder. "Please, don't do that. __Sit.__ "

It should be a good thing Gabriel listened. To see her hand sliding away from his shoulder when he got up. To watch him walk the entire length of the carpet, pass by the empty marble fireplace and stop near the armchair that was opposite them. It should be a good thing. But then, Gabriel remained as he was, on his feet and standing to the side of the armchair, back turned towards them and __never looking back__.

"Broken?" he demanded to know, hands moving behind his back. "Is it broken?"

"I don't think so, no," Nathalie reassured, lowering Adrien's foot to the floor, she herself getting up and walking to stand in front of the fireplace, midway between Gabriel and Adrien. "Regardless of that _—_ "

Adrien straightened on his chair.

"It's not broken," he assured and the pleading look he gave Nathalie once she turned to him spoke for itself. "Can we have dinner now? __Please.__ "

It would stay with her. The way he said that. His expression. It was the only thing that could make her give a try to what she said next.

"Should I call the doctor?" she queried going back to Gabriel, Adrien visibly hanging on her words. "She should not take long to be here."

Still, whatever she said, whatever she thought, the last word was not hers to have.

"Take him to the hospital," Gabriel chose to say, the small head shake she gave Adrien when he again went to her for support making his expression fall _—_ not that standing alone meant Adrien was giving up. It had never meant he would give up.

"It is just a sprain!" he found it in himself to say, leaning forward, towards where Gabriel was standing. "It will be fine in the _—_!"

"It _**_won't_**_ be fine in the morning!" Gabriel snapped, going back to speak with Nathalie even if keeping his back turned. "Take the car. Or, better yet, have that bodyguard do something useful and take it. I __suppose__ he hasn't left."

"He is still here, yes."

"And the press is still outside!" Adrien insisted, determined, and pointing towards the windows overlooking the front courtyard. "This will be all over the city tomorrow!"

"It doesn't __matter!__ "

"It mattered when it was __you!"__ Adrien protested, giving Gabriel's right wrist a penetrating look. "And you have been walking around with __that__ for over a week!"

"It will heal on its own!"

"Then why won't __mine__?!"

Nathalie cleared her throat, a warning look being given to Adrien, who immediately fell back into the pillows, arms crossed.

"What happened?" she asked him.

"I don't know," Adrien groaned, right hand running through his hair. "Guess it must have been when I was facing Kagami. We ended up running all over the school. I didn't even notice this—" He pointed at his ankle. "—until the class was over."

Gabriel's shoulders had just gone tense.

"And _**_what_**_ was Armand so occupied with he didn't notice it either?" he hissed, dangerously, looking _—_ No. __Glaring__ at Adrien as he turned, eyes like blue fire. "Has he _**_any knowledge_**_ of what his job is?"

Adrien straightened on the armchair. And if ever Nathalie had ever seen a disaster coming she saw it now. Gabriel was no longer the only one whose eyes seemed to have turned to steel. Adrien too was glaring, a rare show of anger making his lips curl.

"I was _**_not_**_ the only person there," Adrien went on to say, a defiant note to his words, and all the while facing Gabriel head on. " _ ** _Armand_**_ can't be taking care of me the __entire time.__ "

" _ ** _Armand—_**_ " Gabriel snarled, careful as to pronounce each of his next words. " _—_ won't be taking care of you _**_at all_**_ if he can't _—_ "

Nathalie drew her eyebrows together, her admonitory _'_ _ _Sir.'__ somehow managing to stop Gabriel before he said something he would not only come to regret, but never forgive himself for saying the very moment he calmed down.

"Who is this Armand?" she now asked him, lips in a severe line, and hoping, __truly hoping__ , she could steer the conversation the other way. __Any other way.__ "Do I know him?"

"Armand D'Agencourt?" Gabriel fumed, not going to the trouble of turning his back on them again. "You do."

If he thought that helped _—_

"M. D'Agencourt is my fencing instructor," Adrien came to her rescue, visibly trying to push his anger down while pressing the bag of ice she had left with him to his ankle. "You do know him. He is the one who ran for Mayor against Chloe's father. Hawkmoth turned him into a knight when he lost the election."

The derisive scoff rising from where Gabriel was standing made Adrien glare at him, the angry gleam threatening to overtake his eyes leaving Nathalie to steel herself for the worse. She should have given Adrien more credit than that, however. The very next moment, he had let himself fall back into the cushions, sighing.

"Father __knows__ him too," he now told her, back to his normal gentle self, and Nathalie would be lying if she said that his words didn't catch her attention. The two of them were facing Gabriel now, equally as curious. "Did you go to school together?"

"No."

"College?"

" _ ** _No._**_ "

"Then __where__ do you know M. D'Agencourt from?!" Adrien pleaded.

Gabriel closed his eyes. Angry as he was, however, he just marched up to the fireplace, stopping at Nathalie's side, one arm resting on the mantelpiece.

"Get him to the hospital," he ordered, expression looking like it had been carved in stone.

"Of course," Nathalie acquiesced, going back to look at Adrien. "Can you stand?"

Adrien was still looking at Gabriel, pleading, then, finally, he dropped his head.

"Yeah, I can do that."

And he got up, limping, Nathalie's arm wrapping around his shoulders as they both walked the entire length of the dining room table and stepped outside, into the atrium. It was only when Adrien was sitting in the small waiting area closest to the atelier, not having said a word all the way there, that Nathalie finally addressed him.

" _ _Adrien—__ "

It went as she expected.

"I meant to tell __you!"__ Adrien exploded, not caring to drop his voice despite the open door to the living room, not caring if Gabriel heard. "I knew Father would get like __that!__ I just wanted to be with him for five seconds! He is never around anymore! And I'm not angry at you, I don't know why I'm talking like this!"

Nathalie gave Adrien a gentle smile, closing one hand over his shoulder. She did know why. As she did whom he was talking to _'_ _ _like this'__. Himself. It might have surprised her, or shocked her, or hurt her just like Adrien seemed to fear he had, but she knew this all too well. She knew whom he had got this from. Gabriel was exactly the same.

"We will be leaving now," Nathalie announced once she made her way back into the living room some minutes later, both her jacket and Adrien's folded over her arm. Gabriel's silence made her stop at his side and then look back, towards the door she had left open, her voice dropping.

"Won't you go with him?"

Gabriel let out a shivering chuckle at Nathalie's question, right hand making a straight line to run through his hair and stopping, instead pressing his eyes.

"He was lying," Gabriel told her in a voice so low, so strange, Nathalie almost missed it. "That ankle _—_ That was __me__."

Nathalie raised her eyebrows. Before she could say anything, however, Gabriel shook his head. Arm again going to rest on the mantelpiece. Expression vacant.

"Go with Adrien," he ordered, voice back to its normal impassive tone. "I am fine."

"He isn't, is he?" Adrien asked, quietly, eyes darting her way after having remained glued to the house while the car made its way across the dark courtyard. His fingers were locked around his ring. "And he can hardly move his hand. Why won't he come with us?"

"He is an adult, Adrien," Nathalie stated, not betraying any emotion. "He can make his own decisions."

And, all the while probing Adrien about what had actually happened to his ankle, Nathalie wished __so much__ , she didn't know what Gabriel's decisions entailed.

 **Adrien**

" _ ** _Claws in!_**_ " Adrien exclaimed while sliding down the red cafe canopy he had just landed on, rain falling around him, his cry mixing with the exhausted voice of the black kwami coming out of his ring.

"Could you have done your dramatic exit any __slower__?" Plagg complained, hands grabbing hold of Adrien's shoulder just as Adrien himself closed his fingers over the canopy's edge and rolled to get both of them to the alley underneath. "For a moment there I thought we were done for _—_ _ ** _Adrien!_**_ "

Adrien didn't recall what happened next. From where he was standing, one minute he was landing on the alley, a watchful glance being given left and right, and the next he had opened his eyes to find himself lying face down on the black cobblestones, rain soaking his hair and clothes, Plagg frantically hitting his face.

"Adrien!" he gasped once their eyes met, water dripping from his black fur. "Are you alright?!"

"Alright?"

A roar, loud and furious, cut through Adrien's confusion, the air itself seeming to be shivering sending him back to his feet so fast his vision swam. Looking passed the incessant rain and down the alley, however, a quiet exhale made it passed his lips.

He was alone. __Fortunately__. The pair of bicycles parked against the wall to his right and the flower vases left outside a door further down the path his only companions _—_ at least, if one ignored the cafe canopy that had made him come here in the first place. The same canopy he was now marching, or rather limping, towards. The very same one that, even if Adrien still didn't remember how he had ended out cold in the ground, still offered him cover from the rain and any hostile eyes when a silent curse went passed his lips and he crashed onto the solitary step leading to the cafe door, right hand closing around his swollen ankle.

He might not remember what had happened, but it stood to reason he had landed on this. Like the genius he was, he had slid down the canopy, rolled out of it, jumped to the alley and landed right on his bad foot. Just like he had done back with Father.

 _ _Idiot!__

How much of an idiot could he be?!

" **Adrien!** " Plagg screeched, the shudder Adrien could feel running down his back, forcing him to rest his head on his knee least he crashed onto the cobblestones _—_ _ _again—__ sending the kwami rushing to him, tiny, warm, if very wet hands pulling his head back up. "How many deliciously smelling kwamis are you seeing?"

As uncomfortable as Adrien was right now, the pain climbing up his leg making him feel slightly nauseous, he had to snort. Could he say none?

"Adrien!"

Okay, no, he couldn't do that to Plagg.

"I'm fine," Adrien tried to reassure, taking the cheese he had inside his pocket and giving it to the worried kwami. "And there is just one of _—_ _ ** _Claws out!_**_ "

Plagg barely had time to shove the cheese inside his mouth before he was again sucked inside the Miraculous and Chat Noir rolled from beneath the canopy, getting back into the rain, his staff hitting the cobblestones and sending him straight up, high over the buildings, just as what looked like a gigantic snake blasted its way inside the alley, crashing into the bicycles and the vases and the canopy Adrien had been sitting under, destroying all in its path and then turning upwards, __towards him__ , growling and hissing and _—_

Adrien was no longer paying any attention to it. To his left, a gigantic monster had just risen from the Seine. Water cascaded down its grayish scales as it rose and rose and stood high over the old-fashioned buildings near the Notre Dame, its dozens of heads all turning towards Adrien, then charging at him right as he grabbed hold of the staff, forced it to reduce in size and was pulled back down, towards the head that was zooming up to catch him. Towards its sharp white teeth.

It was _—_ Well, time to buy Plagg a truckload of cheese that's what it was, because he was rather sure the person who had gotten Chat Noir out of this one was not called Adrien Agreste. In fact, Adrien just knew that one moment he was being pulled down and right on route to land on a monster's mouth, and the next his body had taken balance and flipped over the head that had first attacked him, landed on it and began sliding down its long scaly neck, staff left behind, the incessant rain that made the monster's scales as slippery as oil leading Adrien back towards the alley he had just left, sliding faster and faster _—_ even if not so fast that the loud "CRASH" coming from overhead didn't make him look up.

What had just occurred wasn't pretty in slightest. The heads that had been chasing him had collided. Or at least, __three of them had__. And the minute that happened, their necks broke from the gigantic main body, crashing into the roofs around Adrien, the neck he was still sliding down of trembling and hobbling and forcing him to jump for safety just as the monster they belong to slithered out of the Seine and into the streets, roaring, six new heads already taking the place of the fallen ones.

Well, just in case there were any doubts here, that was bad.

 _ _Really bad.__

And honestly, Adrien would just go ahead and ignore the part of himself that was calling Hawkmoth's present creation __insanely cool__. Running, trying to get out of the destroyed alley, his ankle hurting like __hell__ , the sane part of his mind was rather adamant that the last thing he wanted right now being anywhere near _—_

Adrien stopped just short of leaving the alley, one hand touching the brick wall of the building to his left, eyes on the road running along the Seine, determination written on his face.

On second thought _—_

A giant clawed hand dived between the buildings, closing shut around him, squeezing him, raising him passed the street lamps and the trees and the buildings until Adrien was hanging upside down above this forest of snake-like heads. There were over fifty. And all of them were opening and snapping their mouths under him, the scenery making Adrien give this _'_ _ _I-am-not-so-sure-about-this-anymore'__ smile to Hawkmoth's very own, very _—_ he had _**_not_**_ been about to call it __awesome—__ _ ** _Hydra_**_. Now that Adrien took a moment to think about his hands-on approach to Ladybug's ' _ _Search for the Akuma__ ' instructions, it kind of occurred to him that getting caught by the thing was probably not what she had in mind. More importantly though _—_

Adrien tried to twist himself inside the clawed hand, grimacing.

"So first off _—_ **Too tight!** " he shouted towards the Hydra, eyes going over each of the heads, trying to catch one that might actually be paying attention. "Second, I know I said the Greek theme was kind of cool a while back with Medusa, but _**_seriously_**_ _ _!__ Isn't this thing completely over the top?!"

Adrien was shaken. Rocking back and forth on the claws, the forest of heads under him twitching and hissing at him. Not that any of that was about to stop him. He was not giving up on finding the akuma so easily.

"In case you haven't noticed, we can hardly keep pace with this thing!" Adrien went on to say or rather shout. "It can hardly hit us! I mean if we are being practical here _—_ _ ** _Yikes!_**_ "

A mouth had just snapped its long teeth mere centimeters under his head. In fact, Adrien thought, uneasy, the Hydra seemed overly eager to rip him to shreds rather than take the Miraculous from his hand. Still, as far as it was highly doubtful Hawkmoth would have any qualms about allowing the shredding to happen, losing the Miraculous _—_ Adrien had to bite down a triumphant grin when the all too familiar butterfly-shaped light appeared in one of the heads.

 _ _There you are.__

"Boy, am I glad to see you!" Adrien exclaimed, and he would have given Hawkmoth this wave if he had his hands free. Also, if Hawkmoth being here didn't mean the entirety of the Hydra's fifty or so heads had just surrounded him, leaving Adrien face to face with this wall of glowing eyes and sharp teeth that was facing him from every direction.

"Okay, no, I am not really that happy anymore," he cringed, only to get his act back together a moment later and go back to speaking. "But were you listening to what I was just saying?"

The eyes on the Hydra's main head turned to slits, lips curling to show a long line of razor-sharp teeth. It was all confirmation Adrien needed as to the fact Hawkmoth was controlling this thing. In fact, he could tell what he was thinking in a not so simple phrase:

"I am not doing this for your entertainment!"

"Right, right," Adrien answered, attention never leaving the main head even as all the others loomed closer, the incessant rain leaving small rivers to run down their scales. "But follow me here for a moment. Think smaller, portable, let's stick to the Greek monsters part. Have you thought about Harpies? Or a Sphinx! I vote for the Sphinx!"

The Hydra's heads were starting to go back to their erratic movement, the butterfly-shaped light threatening to disappear among them making Adrien clench his teeth, trying not to lose it from sight, trying to find the akuma. But it was for naught. The Hydra was back to roaring and hissing and the very same moment it seemed to decide to go ahead and squeeze him, a yo-yo smacked into the hand that held him. The next moment, Adrien was falling towards the rooftops and the lit street lamps, the Seine as a backdrop, and with no real hope of saving himself.

The thing about hope, however, was that he really didn't need it. He had Ladybug. And she had swept in the next moment, this deep a flash of red breaking through the rain and grabbing him midair.

"Gotcha!" she announced, the yo-yo she aimed towards one of the street lamps under them, taking both of them away from the already charging Hydra heads, their ear-splitting roar making both of them look back.

"Hold on!" Ladybug shouted, pulling on the yo-yo to release it from the street lamp and aiming it towards a nearby antenna. Her sudden change of direction made the heads that had been coming for them snap their teeth over nothing. "Staff!"

Adrien blinked, a glance down, towards her belt, making a grin take over his face. The staff. Ladybug had found it! And Adrien had taken hold of it the next moment, swinging it against the pair of heads that were now coming from their right. They broke from the main body the same instant Adrien hit them and, as much as losing another pair of heads _—_ or growing two pairs more _—_ didn't seem to even faze the Hydra, the long necks having fallen right in its path visibly slowed it down. It was all it took for Ladybug to aim for a nearby roof, disgust running through her expression as they went right over the enormous fallen heads, two of the many that at this moment were a little all over Paris.

"What were you doing back there?" Ladybug asked Adrien, looking back towards the Hydra, the terrace she was aiming for coming closer and closer. "Why were you talking to Hawkmoth?"

"Just strategizing, Milady!"

"While being held __upside down__?"

"If playing the damsel in distress will get you to hold me _—_ "

Ladybug dropped Adrien that same instant. Letting him fall into the giant puddle on the terrace underneath. It would have been nothing. It should have been nothing. She had done it a thousand times before and always in the same way. Playfully _—_ Okay, okay, maybe with just a notch of exasperation, he kind of had a knack for driving her insane. But the thing was, he always landed on his feet. __Always.__

This time he just didn't.

"Chat!"

Adrien had rolled and got back to his feet already, finding his balance the exact moment Ladybug landed on the terrace and ran back to him.

"Nine lives, Milady!" he announced, rain falling around him and trying to hide his limp with a bow. "None lost!"

His reassurance was the same as nothing, however. Ladybug was making her way across the puddle, feet splashing in the water, her hands closing around his shoulders the second she reached him. Whatever she had meant to ask him, however, never crossed her lips. There was roaring coming from behind him and before Adrien could look back, Ladybug's eyes had widened and she was grabbing him by the waist, pulling them both away from the terrace, the forest of heads that straight up crashed into the space where they had been at making both of them cringe.

"Honestly, what on earth got into Hawkmoth to make a thing like that?!" Ladybug snapped while swinging them away. "I get it! He is in a really foul mood! But that thing goes straight out of foul and into gross really fast!"

Adrien had to snort despite their present Hydra-predicament. It made Ladybug glare at him.

"Come on!" he said, feet grazing the surface of the Seine when Ladybug aimed her yo-yo to take them to the other margin. "If we forget the terrorizing Paris bit, the Hydra __is__ really cool!"

"It's a __snake__!" Ladybug retorted as if that settled it _—_ which it didn't, by the way. "Also, I don't get how anyone would accept to be turned into a head-sprouting beast! He can't be that persuasive!"

"Can't he?" Adrien said whilst looking back to the Hydra that, in the midst of crashing the entirety of its heads against the building _—_ and leaving half of them there _—_ had clearly lost sight of them. In fact, it was looking straight in the opposite direction of where they were at.

"Go down! Quick!"

Ladybug didn't even look back, the yo-yo cable started to unwind, taking them down, towards the stone bridge uniting the two margins of the Seine, the illuminated face of the __Notre Dame__ left to shine bright on their left when they blasted through the curtain of water cascading from the bridge and hid under it.

"This is one of your Greek monsters, right?" Ladybug immediately asked, both of them getting to their knees, this giant muzzle Adrien had not noticed she had been carrying on her shoulder being put on the ground between them. "How do we solve it? You know how the story goes, right?"

Adrien stopped staring at the muzzle long enough to give her a lopsided smile. Of course, he knew how the story went. But since he had to keep this really short _—_

"Heracles cut out all heads except the main one, cauterized them so they wouldn't grow again and then he killed it," he listed leaving Ladybug staring at him, then at the giant muzzle. Even if Adrien didn't want to, he ended up snorting.

"Lucky Charm disagrees?"

"Don't even get me started," Ladybug groaned. Whatever she said, however, she seemed rather grateful her Miraculous hadn't gone full Greek Mythology on them. "I mean, guess it is kind of obvious we have to take the heads out of the way if we want to get the akuma, but _—_ "

She made this up and down gesture with her hand while she pointed passed the curtains of rain and towards the monstrous Hydra on the opposite margin of the river.

"Is an Hydra supposed to be that __big?!"__

"Hawkmoth might have taken some artistic liberty," Adrien shrugged all the while watching the Hydra slither between the old palace-like buildings, its many heads _—_ actually, Adrien feared it had more than one hundred heads by now _—_ all searching for them.

"Those things grow back too fast for us to be able to move in," Ladybug commented, pensive, attention going back to the muzzle. "And this sure can't help with that part."

"Cataclysm can," Adrien offered, uneasiness making him run one hand through his damp hair more as a distraction than to try and pull it from his face. "It would do the trick."

Ladybug was back to him.

"That is a person," she remarked, again pointing at the Hydra. Not that she was entirely against the idea as it would seem. Or so her next words led to believe.

"Wouldn't we be hurting him _—_ her?"

Adrien tilted his head, arms crossed.

"If that thing is anything like the original, it just has one real head," he informed. "And I bet all my nine lives it's the one Hawkmoth talks to. The others… Think lizard tails."

He had just managed to gross Ladybug out. Completely gross her out. The tip of her tongue was sticking out of her mouth. She was cringing, then pressing her lips, cheeks puffed out. It was __absolutely adorable__ and this wasn't even the right time for him to be thinking about how adorable she was.

"Guess that makes sense," Ladybug said once she got hold of herself again. "It's absolutely _**_gross—_**_ _"_ She said it with passion. _"—_ but it makes sense. Are you sure?"

Adrien cleared his throat, trying to hide that he had been staring at her with this silly grin on his face up until the point she had looked at him.

"It was what the person who helped us get rid of both Medusa and the Minotaur once told me, so _—_ "

Adrien didn't get to finish. That settled it. It settled it right there. Ladybug didn't seem to have any doubts left and she was giving the Hydra a determined nod.

"We are aiming for the original head then," she announced. "If the akuma is somewhere it's with the one Hawkmoth _—_ "

She stopped, turning back to him, comprehension suddenly hitting her.

"That was why you were talking with him," she pointed out, eyebrows raised. "You were searching for the akuma."

"That was about it, Milady."

"You are clever, kitty."

He was __also__ about as red as her suit but moving on!

"You go first," Ladybug told him while getting back to her feet, muzzle again over her shoulder and looking at the Hydra. "Take out those heads."

"Right you are, Milady!" Adrien exclaimed.

"Let's make this work."

They did. And they were left to peek from over the parapet of a nearby terrace, a complicit look being shared between them as they watched the press try to get an interview with the now de-transformed Hydra, the ambulance she was presently sitting in the back of barely allowing them to glimpse the person they had saved.

"I think we need to make your _—_ _ _you know—__ an honorary team member," Ladybug announced while glancing at the now clear sky, her Miraculous beeping making her step away from the parapet, preparing to run across the terrace. Or, at least, so she intended to do until the loud snort crossing Adrien's lips brought her to a stop, looking back. "What is it?"

Adrien was shaking his head, trying to hold his laughter in, his beeping Miraculous getting him to his feet, a single footstep taking him in the opposite direction Ladybug would be heading towards.

"He would hate that, Milady."

"He would?"

"You can't even imagine," Adrien informed, while twirling his staff. "He is not remotely a fan. And if he knew it was 'me' under this?"

Ladybug gave him such an alarmed look, Adrien didn't even have an opportunity to shudder at the thought.

"I am not going to tell you who 'me' is!" he exclaimed. "Anyway, if he knew I'm Chat Noir he would get so angry! And not just at me. At you too. And don't even get me started on Hawkmoth."

Ladybug's eyebrows jumped up.

"You think he would scold him or something?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"I think he would scold __us,__ " Adrien clarified, staff now tapping against his shoulder. "Hawkmoth would be grounded so fast nobody would even know how it happened."

Ladybug's expression turned deathly serious.

"I want that superpower," she announced and they looked at each other, the corners of their lips twisting in amusement, their rapidly crumbling expressions giving way to laughter, both leaning forward holding their stomachs.

"So honorary team member?" Adrien wheezed, walking up to her and raising a hand to fist bump hers.

"Honorary team member."

Their fists met, the Miraculous beeping again cutting through their chuckles and sending them running in opposite directions. Ladybug tossing her yo-yo so that it would wrap around a nearby lamp. Him shoving the staff into the ground _—_

"Chat."

Adrien stopped just short of enlarging the staff, turning to find Ladybug had stopped, her figure drawn in the large puddle that had been left by the rain, the moon high over her.

"Thanks," she said, leaving Adrien staring at her in confusion. "For the laugh. I am having this horrible day. It kind of started great and then I messed it all up and someone I really like got hurt."

Her eyes dropped away from him, to her reflection on the puddle, her voice little but a whisper.

"I think he hates me now."

Adrien closed the staff, taking a step her way, his feet sending ripples through the water.

"I really doubt anyone can hate you," he said and Ladybug looked up, a small smile touching her lips.

"See you around, kitty."

And she jumped, landing on the roofs on the other side of the street, running along the Seine and towards the Notre Dame, Adrien's gaze following her until he could no longer see her, until the red dot was no more and he became so lost on his thoughts that he didn't even notice his transformation had collapsed until Plagg glided theatrically into view, eyes twinkling and chewing on some cheese.

"Ah, young love."

"Don't ruin it, Plagg," Adrien sighed, the pain to his ankle forcing him to limp across the terrace and lean against the closed door leading inside the building. There was nothing, however, that could stop him from smiling. "Isn't she just perfect?"

"It's all about the kwami," Plagg told him, his attention too becoming momentarily lost on the distant rooftops and then going back to Adrien, a cheeky grin filling his face. "However, aren't you forgetting someone, __Don Juan?__ The other blue-eyed, black-haired lady in your life?"

Adrien could swear his heart had just done this acrobatic somersault.

"Marinette?!" he exclaimed and the same moment he had half-run half-limped back to the parapet, searching the street, looking passed the tree lines and the police cars and the press, searching the crowds gathered between them and the river, alarm leading him straight back to Plagg. "Was Marinette here? Is she fine?"

Plagg seemed to be choking on the cheese.

"Marinette, __right!__ " he finally screeched, giving out a loud cackle. "I had forgotten about good old Marinette! But, I meant the other _**_other_**_ blue-eyed, black-haired lady! You know, the one who is less Neufchâtel _—_ "

Adrien had his forehead against the cold parapet.

"You didn't just compare Marinette with Neufchâtel," he groaned.

"Why shouldn't I?" Plagg asked, a very innocent expression on his face. "Neufchâtel is sharp and a bit nutty."

Okay, hold on just a second!

"Marinette __isn't__ a bit nutty!" Adrien snapped, turning straight to Plagg.

"I never said that was bad! I, for one, think it makes her interesting," Plagg replied, landing on his knee, grinning, when Adrien went to sit on the floor, back against the parapet. "What is your problem with Neufchâtel?"

Adrien rolled his eyes.

"It's heart-shaped, Plagg."

Plagg had just exploded in laughter.

"You do know cheese!" he exclaimed, triumphant, laughing even more when Adrien ran his fingers through his hair, groaning.

 _ _Oh no__.

"So, __cheese!__ " Plagg said. "See, this other lady is Gruyère. You know Gruyère?"

" _ _Plagg—__ "

"It's sweet and very down-to-earth cheese," Plagg explained while nodding his head like a true connoisseur. "Now, there is this part that doesn't quite fit, she has this hard shell _—_ "

Adrien got up so quickly he almost vaulted over the parapet and right on top of some of the press vans.

"Nathalie!" he cried out. "I had forgotten about her!"

"Bet she hasn't forgotten about you, though!" Plagg sing-sang, grinning. "Or about that very generous slice of Gorgonzola back at home." The kwami's bright green eyes twinkled when Adrien turned to him. "You do __remember__ the Gorgonzola, __right__? He has this strong presence and quite a bit of bite, also he sent both you and the Gruyère to the doctor's office because of your __foooooooooooooooooooot!__ "

The Miraculous turned black on Adrien's finger, Plagg's cry still echoing in the night when Adrien ran his hands through his wet hair, a horrified expression to his face.

 _ _Father!__

The roof was left behind as was the old part of Paris, the clock on a church tower hitting three just as he jumped back through the same bathroom window he had used to leave the hospital some two hours ago, making a grimace fill Adrien's face. Or maybe that was his ankle. Possibly both. It made little difference. Putting his head under the hand drier, trying to get his hair to look less like he had been out in the rain, Adrien was all pins and needles. He had to get back to the waiting room! Now! He had to go back, find some excuse for his absence and _—_

As luck would have it, Adrien got out of the bathroom just in time to crash into Nathalie as she came down the corridor.

" _ _Pardon__ , I _—_ " Her eyebrows jumped up. " ** **Adrien!**** "

Boy oh boy, her eyes! Her expression! He better come up with something good, because Nathalie looked capable of straight up murdering him right now!

"I got lost!" Adrien exclaimed.

"I was looking for you at the __reception!"__ she snapped, angrily.

"I wasn't __that__ lost!"

"And why is your hair __wet?!"__

Adrien was lucky enough not to have to find a justification for that on top of everything else. Nathalie's phone was ringing and the face that was on the display once she took it out of her bag _—_ the same face that made Nathalie press the bridge of her nose, trying to get a hold of herself again _—_ made Adrien step closer to her.

"We are still here, Sir," Adrien heard Nathalie inform upon picking up the call, her voice back to its professional tone. "Yes, Adrien is _—_ "

Adrien tilted his head when she stopped, going back to him. It might be just him but he could have swore there had been this __something__ to her expression when their eyes meet, right before her left hand reached out to touch his hair, that was downright odd.

"He is with me," Nathalie whispered, frowning at the wet locks she had taken to comb with her fingers before his father spoke and something gentle, truly gentle, washed away whatever it was that was making her behave so weirdly.

"It is just a sprain." Nathalie paused. Listening. "No, it won't take much longer."

Nathalie turned off the call with that, going back to Adrien to find him staring at her phone.

"That was Father, wasn't it?" he asked.

"It was."

"He is awake."

"He is."

Adrien beamed. __Right.__ It didn't matter if it was passed three in the morning at this point! It didn't matter that he was beyond tired! There was no way in the world he was going to bed without saying goodnight! He was not going to fall asleep!

 **Gabriel**

Adrien was asleep.

Gabriel should have known the minute the car door failed to open that something of the sort must be afoot. He should have _ _thought__ that was the reason, rather than storm out into the night, march down the stairway and cross the front courtyard to rip the car door open. He should have known that would be the reason and he might have smiled. Once. In another life.

In this, he stood near the car. The cold night breeze touching his skin. Gravel snapping under his shoes. Gazing into the backseat. Blind to the flashes raining over him _ _if not__ to Adrien's bodyguard getting off the driver's seat, his unwelcome intrusion when he stopped behind Gabriel _—_ _ _grunting—__ making him give G. such a wintry gaze that he stopped on his tracks, stepping silently away. It was only when the bodyguard was gone, that Gabriel found it in himself to lean forward, to take in something other than the glaring white bandages wrapped around his son's foot. To see passed them and to the two figures sitting in the car.

They were asleep.

Both of them.

The book lying open over Nathalie's legs seeming to imply both she and Adrien had been reading it before fatigue had got the better of them. Adrien's head falling against her shoulder. Nathalie's head going to rest on his, the arm she had wrapped around Adrien's shoulders as tight now as if she was still awake.

Gabriel truly might have smiled _—_ but instead, he stood here, not remembering how, hesitating on waking up Nathalie, this absolutely ridiculous notion he might not have to, crossing his mind before he reached forward and closed his hand around her shoulder. Nathalie woke up the same instant he touched her, arm closing tighter around Adrien, her head snapping up, blue-eyes taking in the courtyard passed the car's tinted windows, the press outside the gates, frustration at herself as clear in her voice as in the pulsing of Gabriel's Miraculous.

"You should have woke me _—_!"

Nathalie had turned towards the open door at her side. She had found Gabriel. And the moment she did and their eyes meet, the Miraculous steady pulsing turned to a flutter. She had not expected this to be him that at least was clear and something like embarrassment was making her look down, towards her legs, before she turned to the boy sleeping against her shoulder, hand cupping his face.

"Adrien."

"Let him be," Gabriel asked and he reached inside the car, offering his hand to Nathalie, seeing her hesitate before letting her fingers come to rest upon his, squeezing them as she stepped out of the car and then, just as carefully, letting go.

She looked at the press now, watching them and the unrelenting flashes with her brow furrowed as Gabriel's reached back inside, lifting Adrien out of the backseat. Adrien's head lulled back and forth for a moment, Nathalie's hand pressing it so it would rest against Gabriel's shoulder finally bringing that movement to a stop.

They entered the house like that. The sound of the front door closing behind them echoing in the entrance. All three of them going up the stairs. Silence coming to envelop all as Nathalie opened the door to Adrien's bedroom and Gabriel stepped inside, turning at the last moment to find her still at the doorstep, taking off her glasses to press her eyes, fatigue clear in her expression.

"Go rest."

Adrien's bedroom was warm. The light coming from the street lamps on the other side of the glass wall all that was needed to move around. And yet, making his way passed the climbing wall and the basketball basket to put Adrien to bed, Gabriel couldn't see anything more than the white flash of a sword, hear something other than squealing brakes and twisting mental, feel anything that wasn't incredulous horror as Riposte severed a car in half and __Adrien__ fell from within, rolling on the asphalt, stopping and finding himself facing the creature staring at him from behind Riposte's eyes. The same creature that now held him in his arms. __Who had no right to.__

The bed groaned when Gabriel lowered Adrien to sit on the mattress, a soft whimper, something that might have been pain, making his son immediately lock his arms around Gabriel's neck, pinning him in place.

It felt _—_ It felt just like he had heard his thoughts. Like he knew Gabriel had been about to flee. And that left them there for a long while. Adrien pressing himself to his chest, his distress making Gabriel's Miraculous shiver. Gabriel fighting with himself to do anything other than stand here feeling like he was drowning. To instead sit beside Adrien. To close his arms around him. To hold him _—_ To feel Adrien slump back into his chest the same instant he did, arms falling to his side.

This time Adrien didn't notice Gabriel leave. Not when he put him to bed. Not when he pulled the sheets over his shoulders. Not when Gabriel's fingers hovered just centimeters from touching his hair... and he retreated, exiting the room, fleeing.

He wanted to be alone.

He needed it.

And there was absolutely no reason why he should be so grateful when he stepped onto the stairs and found Nathalie waiting for him halfway down.

"Did you speak with him?" she queried while the moonlight fell over her, darkness giving this bluish tint to her skin that made her look like something Gabriel rather forget. __A peacock.__ And maybe that was why they ended standing on the threshold to the atelier, where there was light and Nathalie was simply a young woman with unusually piercing eyes. Where she was nothing more than herself.

"Did Adrien wake up?"

Her voice was barely there as was Gabriel's head shake, still they remained here. None making a gesture to leave. None seeming to wish to.

"You should have come," Nathalie finally said. "With Adrien. He would have liked to have you there."

"And I would have faced him _—_ _ _how?__ "

She had an answer. She always did. Gabriel could see it in her eyes. In the determined line of her lips. But he had stepped away before Nathalie could speak, his eyes meeting the green ones on the painting in the end of the atelier. They made him feel like he was suffocating. Drowning all over again.

"I don't expect you to come to work tomorrow," Gabriel nevertheless managed to say to Nathalie, his voice back to its impassive tone as the door closed slowly between them. "Get some sleep."

He wouldn't even try to.

 **Adrien**

"Why does this keep happening?!" Adrien groaned as he marched out of the bathroom, still fighting to make his hair look presentable, a quick search for the black kwami who should be somewhere in his room coming to a quick and unsurprising halt at the bed. "Plagg. Come on. Get up."

Yawning, stretching in the most cat-like way Adrien had ever seen him doing, Plagg raised his head from the pile of pillows and crumpled white sheets he was lying over, ears twitching, green eyes still mostly closed, a sleepy note to his voice.

"Is it Hawkmoth?"

"No?"

" _ _Good.__ "

Plagg's head fell back down, sinking into the sheets with a loud satisfied purr. Unsurprising as it was, Adrien had to roll his eyes as he picked his school bag from the white sofa.

"Now, Plagg," he said, turning his back on the kwami, a short and oh-so-terribly-ill-advised jog later seeing him sit at his desk, massaging his sprained ankle and trading half the books inside the bag for the ones carefully stacked on one of his desk's shelves.

"Seriously, though, why didn't you wake me up?" he asked, while organizing his school bag. "Would it be that hard?"

"I didn't hear the alarm."

"I know, you didn't hear the alarm," Adrien sighed, back at looking towards Plagg and the unmade bed, the book he had just picked up _—_ his chemistry textbook _—_ in his hands. "If Nino hadn't woke us up, I would have missed the entire morning of school!"

Not that Nino's very to the point _"_ _ _Yo, dude, have you looked at the time?"__ was the best way to wake up. Adrien had kicked the bed sheets so hard upon looking at the clock, he was rather sure he would have sprained his ankle if it wasn't sprained already. More to the point, though.

"I was not talking about us missing the alarm, I was talking about last night," Adrien clarified, chemistry textbook being put inside the bag. "You know, when we got back to the house from the hospital and Father was waiting _—_ "

"And you got incredibly clingy?"

Adrien let his head fall to the desk. First, __why?__ Second _—_

"I was __asleep__!" he groaned, closing his bag and getting up. "I don't remember that!"

Plagg stuck his head back up, awake and grinning and with this insane twinkle to his eyes that made Adrien go straight to begging.

"Please, Plagg, enough with the detailed descriptions! I get it! And it's embarrassing enough as it is!"

"How is it embarrassing?"

"I don't know! It just __is!__ " Adrien snapped, watching Plagg's sincere bewilderment turn into a yawn. "Look, I am not like __ten__ or something anymore and Father _—_ _ _He never liked hugs.__ "

Plagg rubbed his eyes.

" _ _Really?__ " he said, and let himself fall back into the bed sheets, stretching. "Couldn't tell. I mean, sure it looks like someone should have taught him what to do with himself and his arms. __Mostly his arms__. He went full scarecrow both here and next to the car…"

Adrien's eyebrows jumped up.

"Next to the car?"

"Yeah," Plagg yawned, clearly trying to make a comfortable nest in the bed. "He came marching down the stairs. Didn't even allow your bodyguard to wake poor Nathalie up. She was so embarrassed when she opened her eyes and found that was your father right next to her!" Plagg gave out a loud cackle. "I never thought she could turn cute!"

He might as well have been saying Nathalie could turn into a pumpkin for all the attention Adrien was now paying to him.

"Nathalie was asleep?" he repeated, a smile taking over his face. "Father __really__ was waiting."

"Of course, he was waiting. How did you think you got to your room?" Plagg replied while scratching one of his ears. "I have seen Nathalie carry some heavy looking archives. Sometimes two and three at a time. But __you?__ Out the car, up the stairs and into bed? You are no lightweight, you know?"

Adrien pressed the bridge of his nose. He hadn't been here thinking __Nathalie__ had carried him up the stairs, but _—_

"I thought _—_ "

What had he __thought__?

"That I was lying?" Plagg put forth, shrewdly.

That was about it, yes.

"I didn't think you were doing it with bad intentions," Adrien said, starting to walk towards the bed and ending up standing next to it, arms crossed. "I thought Nathalie had gone to fetch Father after we arrived. And that he had been working, not waiting, and you were _—_ you were…"

Plagg had taken to lie belly up right in the middle of the ruffled sheets. He seemed to be waiting for him to finish. As things were, Adrien actually didn't think he could.

"Sorry, Plagg."

" _ _Pfft—__ Forget it!" the kwami said, waving one of his hands as if to send the words away. "I had tons of holders who didn't believe me! Who left the pantry door open. Who took the cheese. Who betrayed me _—_ "

" _ _What?__ "

"I didn't take the cheese!"

"That was not _—_ "

"I didn't left the door open either!"

"Plagg! You know that isn't _—_!"

"Such good memories!" Plagg cackled, maniacally, only to stop abruptly and turn his gaze back on Adrien. Studying him. This pensive frown on his face. "You know… I think you are the first one who apologized."

Adrien let his arms fall to his side, staring at Plagg. The first one? __Wait a second—__

"What kind of holders did you have?!"

"All kinds!"

And what kind of answer was even that?! You know what? Between this and that thing Plagg had let escape some days ago about being alone, there was no way he wasn't finding some way of coming back to this later, but right now _—_

 _ _Focus!__

"Look, bottom line, Plagg," Adrien said, and, no, he hadn't missed how relieved Plagg seemed to be that they were changing subject. "Next time I fall asleep and Father is there please __please__ wake me up!"

Plagg was sitting on the white sheets now, rubbing his eyes.

"You know I am not supposed to be seen."

"Sure I do, but you are always taking risks!"

"With your __bodyguard!__ "

Adrien threw his arms up in frustration. That wasn't even true!

"You pinched me right under Nathalie's nose just yesterday!" he pointed out. "Twice!"

"Yeah and look how well that went," Plagg replied, now serious. "I am very sure she __noticed__. And it was already bad enough she __heard me__ when we were listening at the door, you know? But, I mean, I had to do something, you and your father were being _—_ I don't know what you two were being but it was definitely an emergency! I had to pinch you! Now __normally,__ it isn't an emergency! And Nathalie is a hawk! I would rather not find out what your Father is when he hasn't his back turned!"

Adrien groaned, letting himself fall back first into the bed. The mattress jumped. This time, however, Plagg didn't bother himself with his usual game of being propelled up into the air. He just remained where he was, sitting, and with his head tilted.

"You are angry, aren't you?" he asked after a while, taking flight to land on Adrien's chest. "With me. Let's say I __apologize__ , will you go back to normal?"

Adrien had to roll his eyes.

"If that was you apologizing you are horrible at it," he said, only to sigh a moment later. "And I am not angry at you."

"But you are angry," Plagg noted, his words making Adrien rise so fast he had no time to take off, instead ending up tumbling down to Adrien's hands. He was inside the shirt's pocket a pair of seconds later.

"Well, of course, I am angry!" Adrien exclaimed, marching for the school bag that was over his desk and putting it on his shoulder. "It was bad enough I missed dinner! I just can't believe Father was waiting for me and was sleeping like a log! Why do I sleep like a log? I didn't even say goodnight!"

There was this cackle coming from the pocket, and Plagg shoved his head outside.

"Then go down and say good morning," he offered, his usual teasing grin returning to his face full force. "Simple as that."

"It is not __simple.__ And he is probably not even awake."

Adrien doubted anyone was after last night. He was probably going to all this trouble getting ready for school only to find out Father had decided he wasn't going in the first place, find no one was up, the front door was locked and _—_

 _ _Oh—__

Adrien stopped on top of the stairs, guilt twisting his chest. Actually, he was wrong. Nathalie was up. She was stepping out of the atelier right now, attention going up the stairs to find him coming down and then slipping back inside the atelier. Her gesture was telling enough as to the fact Father too was here and gave Adrien this small hope he would step outside. That he would come to say goodbye. Just this once. But he didn't. Instead, the door clicked behind Nathalie and she stopped in front of Adrien, attention immediately falling on the tablet she had with her.

"Your piano practice and Chinese lesson for today have been canceled," she said to Adrien's surprise. "There has been a last minute call from headquarters, you will be needed for a photo shoot at 15.30. I have already talked to your Chinese teacher. You will be picked from school and go to the location."

Nathalie's eyes met his, inflexible.

"By car," she said.

There was nothing to do but offering her an awkward smile, that and lending half an ear to his schedule all the while frowning at her and the car keys swinging from her fingers. Was there something he was missing here? Nathalie was not exactly dressed for work. Sure that was still one of her sweaters _—_ and guess Father would call that color plum _—_ but she was wearing a __skirt__ and ankle high boots and her hair… It was still tied up but it was not pulled back in the same way it usually was. Overall she looked _—_ casual.

"I thought your day off was Sunday," Adrien pointed out the instant Nathalie reached the end of his schedule, his attention rummaging around the atrium. "Where is G.?"

"M. Agreste _—_ " Nathalie started to say and she must really be tired after last night to get that far before recalling whom she was talking to. " _ _Your father__ was kind enough to give the two of us the day off."

Adrien frowned, stealing a glance at his phone.

"It is not even ten yet," he pointed out, going back to Nathalie, curious. "What are going to do?"

"Barricade myself at the beautician until they either take pity on me or kick me out," Nathalie shared, Adrien's loud snort making a smile touch her face. "I made an appointment. Also, I will be taking you to school."

Adrien gave a small jump.

"You will?!" he exclaimed.

 _ _Wait, wait, wait!__

Adrien looked at the atelier door then back to Nathalie, barely able to believe what he was being told.

"Father says I can go?!"

"Is there any reason why he shouldn't?"

Adrien could think of at least __three__ reasons and he wasn't about to share any of them, instead he glued himself to Nathalie as she escorted him out of the house, getting into the passenger seat before Father had time to think better about this and do an 180 turn on the subject.

Still, his mind went back to him when the car began to leave, eyes gluing themselves to the atelier's windows, a small wave being given to them even if he was sure there wasn't anyone looking outside.

 _ _Thank you, Father.__

They rode in silence. Both him and Nathalie. Adrien trading a fast string of messages with Nino. Nathalie lost to the piano aria on the radio as the city went by. The school building, when it finally came to view, saw Adrien grab both his school bag and the fencing one that laid forgotten on the floor since the day when his fencing class had been canceled by a Minotaur. His intentions unfortunately were so clear that Nathalie's penetrating gaze bored into him as soon as she pulled the handbreak, keeping him inside much like it used to keep him on his studies. Without a word. And until he finished. Or in this case, relented.

"I swear I won't practice!" Adrien promised while a group of students walked by the car. "I just don't want to be standing there during class wearing this." He pointed at his jeans and t-shirt. "I promise I won't do anything until the doctor says I can."

Unless Chat Noir was needed. And really who was he kidding? He gave Hawkmoth like ten minutes to be at it again. But Nathalie didn't know about that, so _—_ Okay! He was lying through his teeth and he felt guilty! And, of course, Nathalie was about to make it worse!

"I trust you to keep that promise."

So much __worse!__ And with that Adrien jumped out of the car, feet hitting the terracotta colored floor slabs that led to the school, breathing in the faint scent of the gardenias rising from the small gardens around it, feeling the warm sun _—_ and sticking his head back inside the car just as he was about to close the door.

"When you see Father, you will tell him 'hi' for me, right?" he asked.

Nathalie gave him a small nod.

"Of course."

The door closed shut. Adrien had not taken a single step towards the school's front stairway, however, when he turned back, knocking on the tinted window. It rolled down to reveal a pair of inquiring blue eyes.

"And you will ask him about yesterday's dinner?" Adrien queried, a pleading note to his voice.

"That goes without saying."

Adrien's face lit with a smile as he stepped towards the school and turned back again.

"And you will tell Father it is not his fault, right?" he asked, leaning down so that his arms were leaning on the window, his head inside the car. The question made Nathalie face him with raised eyebrows. "Yesterday. My ankle _—_ "

There was no other way of putting this.

"I know Father will work out some twisted way in which he is to blame for this. Like he did when there was that thing with me and the press. Like he does with __everything__ ," Adrien said, his tone becoming immediately more forceful. "It was __not__ his fault. And Father knows it as well as I do."

He didn't know what it was in his words that made Nathalie smile. Or why a smile, of all things, had to make her look so sad.

"You will tell him I said that?" Adrien insisted. "That it is not his fault? That I am fine and he doesn't have to worry? __Please?__ "

"I will tell him," Nathalie promised, glancing behind him, towards the school, the quiet gentleness to her tone fading away. "Your friends are waiting for you. Have a good day, Adrien."

The window went up, cutting her from view, the tinted glass making Adrien blink upon looking at the reflection and catching both Nino and Alya doing this synchronized arm wave __dance__ from the top of the school stairs and Marinette standing to their side, one hand covering her lips and half-laughing at the scene. They both were laughing honestly, once Adrien managed to reach the entrance and the entire thing came to a crashing halt.

"Finally, dude! I thought our arms were going to fall off!" Nino groaned, both him and Alya doing this rotating movement with their shoulders. "By the way, Marinette told us everything about yesterday and the crazy fencer that attacked you! So we have everything worked out!"

"Worked out?"

Adrien didn't even have time to say anything else. Much less object. That same instant, Nino had managed to take both bags from his hands: the school one ending up over Nino's shoulder, the fencing one somehow finding itself in the hands of a very perplexed and soon blushing Marinette. A mere second after and both Nino and Alya had given this triumphant "Onwards!" and entered the school, leaving Marinette and Adrien to follow behind them.

"What is up with them?" Adrien queried, confused, his head leaning towards Marinette, the school inner courtyard opening around them. "What was that about?"

"A-About?" Marinette stuttered, gesticulating frantically, words filled with nervous laughter. "I don't know what that was about! I mean, why should it be about? Why is it about?"

She let her head fall.

"I am not making any sense, am I?"

"No," Adrien smiled, his heart doing this odd jerk leaving him studying her for a moment. Had he not heard someone say something very similar recently? Someone… He shook his head, Marinette's falling expression making him hit her arm lightly. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah… I am just the usual," she sighed, sadly, the two of them falling further behind Nino and Alya when the basketball ball from a nearby ongoing game went zooming passed them and what seemed to be the entirety of the two teams went running after it. "Are you fine?"

Adrien looked away from the skirmish to get the ball _—_ not to say half the people in the courtyard fleeing up the stairs to get out of the way _—_ and went back to Marinette. She looked apprehensive for some reason and it turned a whole lot worse the minute they started walking again and this stab of pain went through Adrien's ankle.

"Is it your foot?" she exclaimed. "Is it hurting? Should I not have said anything? I thought, since we are all friends, you wouldn't mind! I am so sorry! You must be so mad at me! I didn't mean…!"

"What?" Adrien blinked, Marinette's incredibly distressed expression making him raise both hands to try to calm her down. He didn't even know where to start answering all of that. "No, no, no! I don't mind that you told them! I mean, I look like the hunchback of Notre Dame every time I walk, you can't get more telling than that!"

"You don't look like _—_ "

The joke seemed to hit Marinette that same moment. Her fingers flew to cover her lips, muffling her laughter, attention going from him to the floor. She was running her fingers over the fencing bag strap now, ending up holding on to it, her voice coming back in a quiet whisper as she risked a timid glance up.

"So… you are fine?"

"Yeah, I am fine. Guess I just didn't sleep that much."

If only that was true. Adrien shook his head, attention falling on the sports bag in Marinette's hands.

"So, what did you think of yesterday? Of fencing?" he asked, both of them now going up the stairs and having to cut their way through the people fleeing the still ongoing basketball hunt. "I never had a friend coming to watch, much less wanting to learn. It was really cool to have you there."

Marinette blushed. And then she was talking. Adrien's amazement that she had actually been paying attention to what he had explained to her about fencing _—_ at least, when she started making sense _—_ such that he almost forgot about falling asleep, and Father, and that he had completely missed him last night.

Still, going to sit in the classroom, the bandages wrapped around his foot coming into view as he leaned to put the bag Nino had just given back to him on the floor, Adrien found himself suddenly at hand with that same feeling of dread that had hounded him just the day before and this thought that maybe, just for today, perhaps, __he should have stayed home.__

 **Nooroo**

The phone was ringing, its chime echoing in the silent atelier as it skidded across the center desk, the pencil it had just hit being sent rolling, the soft _'_ _ _clink'__ it made as it hit the floor forcing the kwami hovering silently next to Emilie's portrait to look back, a clear shadow of fear crossing his eyes as he turned to the man standing at his side.

"Master's phone is ringing," he informed, quietly. "Should I fetch it?"

The man Nooroo called Master didn't move, didn't answer. And the phone had just found its way to the work area, bumping into the open notebook, scattering pencils all over the desk, slowly encroaching on the designs. Nooroo's nervous look turned anxious. A last glance towards his holder, a last bid for a word, a look, a gesture, anything at all that would make clear what he should do, finally forcing him to make a decision and fly across the atelier to get the phone. He picked it up just as it made its way across one of the designs, the huge crease being left on its awake, running right over the white suit drawn there, making an anxious Nooroo try to smooth it out before turning to the phone and the face that was on the display. It was a woman's face. Pale and unassuming. Her reserved expression one of carefully concealed embarrassment, like she didn't understand what she was doing having her photo taken. Like _—_

Nooroo tilted his head, an unusually sharp gleam to his eyes.

 _—_ she didn't feel she belonged.

It was more than Nooroo had ever been able to tell while Nathalie was around. More than she had ever allowed herself to show. And still, it was not much at all.

"It's the Lady calling," Nooroo announced, quietly. "Master's _—_ "

He didn't dare say friend.

"The Lady Master trusts?" Nooroo offered instead, making his way back to his holder, offering the phone to him, hoping he might take it. Instead, he saw Gabriel step away from the golden painting, away from him, and move towards the shelves to the right, towards his son's drawing, the phone left to ring until the chime came to an end.

Silence filled the atelier after that and Nooroo had no choice but to go to the center desk, put the phone down and make his way back. Or, at least, he did so, until a soft __ping__ sent him rushing back.

"The Lady sent a message!" he informed while landing in the midst of the designs and picking the phone again. His attention went to his holder's back. "Should I read what it says? I can read it!"

It was more a question if he should. If that wouldn't simply get him shouted at. Or hated. Or told to shut up like so many times before. Still _—_

Nooroo gazed at the words.

 _—_ he could read this. He hadn't been able to read the last time he tried. The symbols lost inside this mist of meaning Master's unwillingness to trust him strangled their connection with. But now, now he had shared something. Unknowably, but he had shared it. So maybe _—_

"The Lady says she has just left Master's son at school!" Nooroo said in one go, words rushing after each other, he himself cowering behind the phone afterwards, waiting, waiting for a fit of anger that never came. And coming out of hiding, peeking over the phone to find his holder picking up Adrien's drawing, opening the frame's back, Nooroo went back to the message, voice calm. "The Lady says she will pick Adrien up after his photo shot. She is at the Dupain-Cheng's... __boulangerie?__ " Had he said that right? "She asks if Master wants her to bring something back."

Nooroo tilted his head, watching his holder return the drawing and its frame to the shelf.

"Won't the Lady worry if Master doesn't answer?"

 _ _She always worries__ , Nooroo could have said, but it was not his place to say it. So he waited. And waited. Until the waiting ran its course.

"I thought Master didn't want the Lady to work today," Nooroo finally put forth, confused. "He wanted her to rest after last night. Won't she come back if Master doesn't say anything?"

Silence was his answer. Silence and this conflicting emotion. If Nooroo was confused before, he was all the more now.

"If Master would rather the Lady was here, why would he send her away?" he asked. "Why won't he ask her to come back?"

Nooroo waited. Just like before, he waited. And just like before, there was no answer to be had.

"Is it because of Riposte?" Nooroo now probed, hovering closer to the place where his holder stood. "Master didn't mean for that to happen. He never meant to hurt Adrien."

Silence. Silence again.

"Master had __no intention__. Why is he blaming himself? I _—_ " Nooroo dropped his head, hugging the phone, wings softly flapping. "I don't understand."

Nooroo's answer was a smile. A pained smile. Bitter and unhappy.

"You wouldn't, would you?" Gabriel asked while closing his eyes, the distant surge of emotion running through both their minds making him give one last affectionate gaze to Adrien's drawing and step towards his wife's portrait. "We have work to do."

"Work?"

It went through Nooroo like a lightning bolt, what Gabriel meant, and he was staring at him, mind following the despaired cry for help to its source.

No. __No!__

"M-Master! It's that thing again!" he shrieked. Hadn't–Hadn't he noticed? "The one… Please, I don't know what that is! If something goes wrong _—_!"

Gabriel stopped in front of the painting, looking over his shoulder. His eyes were like frozen lakes.

"I will know who to blame, won't I? __Nooroo?"__

And Gabriel reached to put the combination into peacock feathers peeking menacingly from the button of the golden portrait, breathing in the foreign emotions, self-loathing clinging to him like a second skin. And, at that moment, catching a glimpse of Adrien's drawing, the way the smiling crayon figure now stood alone with his mother making him turn to the phone he was hugging in terror, Nooroo thought he __understood__.

 _ _Please, Lady, Adrien—__

Nooroo zoomed after Gabriel trying to stop him, the phone that had been on his hands left to fall, a message still shining on its display before the phone hit the floor and opened in two.

 _ ** ***Please, come home*****_

 **Nathalie**

She was too late.

Nathalie had known she would be too late from the moment she had picked her phone and Sabine Dupain-Cheng had risen from behind her bakery's counter, a kind smile on her face, the tongs she was using to fit a slice of __Forêt Noire__ inside a box now pointing at the pastries in front of her.

"Has M. Agreste made a decision?"

Nathalie had know back then, leaving the money over the counter, marching out of the bakery, Sabine's concerned _"_ _ _Has something happened?"__ following her outside, that she would be too late. She had known it as well then as when she had forced the car to a screeching halt in the house's courtyard, the ominous words coming from the radio haunting her mind.

"We now have live coverage from the stadium where Ladybug and Chat Noir saved our city from what seemed to have been a __robot__ ," the reporter had said. "Nadja Chamack is on site with the latest news. Nadja, this __Robustus__ , what can you tell us about it?"

Nathalie had known, always, from the very beginning, that she would never be on time, but this _—_ _ _This__ left her as if frozen, not knowing if she was breathing, not knowing if she should. The dread that had been in her heart seeming to have multiplied tenfold now that she stood in the Observatory, her nose filled with the acrid smell of smoke, mind consumed by the sight of the dome's scorched walls and broken panels. By what laid around her. Scattered all over the Observatory's destroyed floor.

Explosives.

She was rather sure these were explosives. What she wasn't sure of was if she should take a step forward. Even if she had to. Even if she would never forgive herself if she didn't.

 _ _Move.__

Her body refused to obey.

 _ ** _Move._**_

At last, it did. Stepping over the miniature missiles that looked as inoffensive as a child's toy. The silence around her becoming louder and louder now that she got hold of herself and looked to the center of the Observatory, to one of only two people she would ever brave this minefield for.

 _ _Gabriel…__

He would prefer Hawkmoth given the circumstances. And it was Hawkmoth who stood among the destruction, a grimace making its way across his masked face as he took a step back and lowered himself to kneel on the floor, holding his head, the cane the only thing that seemed to be keeping him upright until Nathalie dropped to her knees in front of him, holding his shoulders, and found herself fearing that the only thing keeping Gabriel from falling _—_ _ _was her.__

"Sir _—_ "

Gabriel's head snapped up. Violently. Something feral going through his eyes as he reached to pull the sword out of its sheath and stopped.

"Nathalie?"

He stared at her like he didn't expect her to be real or here, fingers reaching out to touch her face, running down the line of her jaw.

"It's _—_ It's __you__."

The cane slipped from his fingers, a burst of light seeing it turn into a mass of white butterflies just as the reddish light from Ladybug's Lucky Charm burst inside the Observatory and Gabriel chuckled.

 _ _He chuckled—__

Nathalie barely had time to wrap her arms around him before he collapsed.

Half a city away from them, having sneaked back inside the school's chemistry lab to find the small robot he had left the school for apologizing profusely to the circle of curious students around him, Adrien had just sat with his friends when he felt his smile sour. The Miraculous had just bitten into his finger. The certainty that he was needed elsewhere __now,__ crashing into him right at the same time his phone vibrated and he reached inside his pocket. The words that came to glare at Adrien made him jump off his seat, looking passed the sea of his colleagues and towards the chemistry lab's door, bent on disappearing through it, a last minute decision the only thing holding him back, the only thing making him turn towards the friends he would be leaving behind.

"Shouldn't we do something?" Alya was saying whilst leaning against the nearest lab counter, her head tilted towards Marinette and Nino, her eyes, much like those of the rest of the class, never leaving the blue robot hovering near the chalkboard. "The poor thing will short-circuit if it goes on like that."

"I'm more worried about Hawkmoth making him go __bunkers__ again," Nino replied with a shiver, his voice dropping even lower than it already was. "Someone should tell the nice robot __no one__ is blaming him for _—_ I didn't mean you! __Alya!__ "

But Alya was already on the move, one hand raised high over their colleagues heads, the determined gleam to her eyes a sharp contrast to the good-humored grin on her face.

"Anyone who had the same thing happen to them as it did the cute robot, raise their hands!" she said.

And just like that, there was a forest of hands around them, then laughter. It was as good a distraction as Adrien would ever get. And he swore that while thinking that, he had meant to reach out to __Nino__. To grab __his__ shoulder. But the person he ended reaching out for, the person who was now turning to him, __that person__ , had blue eyes.

"Please, cover for me."

Marinette blinked and that same moment Adrien started making his way for the door, opening a path through their laughing colleagues. Marinette's surprise, however, wasn't such that Adrien couldn't see her through the corner of his eyes, following him, fighting to get passed their colleagues, trying to reach him before she lost him from sight.

"Where are you going?!" she called after him, one hand closing over the handrail as she finally managed to struggle her way out of the lab and found Adrien already halfway down the inner courtyard stairs. Her question made him look back. "What happened?!"

"I don't know!"

But he had to find Father.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** And as such things take a turn for the worse.

First and foremost a big thank you to: **Jojo1112** who read this chapter first. And to: **Reminiscent Lullaby** , it is always a pleasure to hear from you :) Thank you for your kind words! And: **Ellie** , thank you :) I am really glad you like the story that much, not to say the characterizations. (Also, wow! you read everything in one day!) I do hope to keep seeing you around :)

And now... Uff! One more chapter down! and I actually managed to keep my promise of a sane publishing schedule. Next chapter is mostly written already so lets see if I can keep at it!

I will see you around next time! (or in the comments :) those are always welcomed)


	6. The Painted Lady - Part 3

**The Painted Lady - Part 3**

 **Adrien**

The night light was turned on over the bedside table, planets and moons and happily smiling stars set to travel across the ceiling as it kept turning, round and round, slower and slower, the sound of paper being softly blow mixing with the sounds of rain and then falling quiet just as the night light came to a stop.

There was movement coming from the bed now. The soft rumble of fabric, a figure twisting under the bed covers, then, finally, a small hand broke away from beneath the sheets and made its way towards the night light, bent on setting it moving again—Or, at least, so it was until a flash of light coming from outside sent it scampering away, a scared whimper left on its wake.

"One. Two. Three. Four—"

Thunder broke in the distance, the muffled sound making a tremulous exhale rise from under the white bed sheets just as a pair of green eyes peeked from under them and a young Adrien risked rising from beneath the bed covers. His attention flew over the book his mother had left over the bedside table and the toys on the floor before focusing on the streams of water moving down the window, bravely trying to look to the storm beyond them. A new flash of light blasting its way inside the bedroom a moment later, however, had him toss the sheets back over his head, hands pressed over his ears.

"One. Two—"

Thunder cut through the silence again and this time it was so close the glass on the windows started to shiver, the menacing growl that filled the room with so loud, Adrien was fighting to get rid of the bed covers and jumping out of bed and fleeing from the bedroom. Rapid footsteps carried him out into the atrium and down the old marble stairway, right towards the oak door to the left of the entrance and the blade of yellowish light peeking from the other side.

Adrien didn't bother knocking before he entered. Not this time, anyway. The door was already open and, taking advantage of it, he pulled it further still, relief that he had made it all the way here not enough that he didn't look around. Still very much alone. Still very much scared.

 _ _"Dad?"__

If Adrien's older self had been the one standing here at this moment, eyes searching for the man he had just called, his attention going all over the room, the differences between past and present would be too many for him not to recall. The place where his younger self now stood was his father's atelier, Father's __old atelier__. The one that had been there before the family had moved to the countryside, before the entire state had been turned on its head for them to return and, as it stood in his memory, the atelier was just this old-fashioned room with wooden panels on its walls and a large table right in the middle. There was no console, no safe, no painting of Mother, no desk by the window. And still, for all those differences, there wasn't anything that had changed more than the man who was inside, the person Adrien had ran all the way from his room to get to.

"Father?"

Standing by the windows overlooking the front courtyard, his father looked not as worn down by life as he one day would. He still favored dark blues over the mostly beige and red suits he now wore. His hair was still golden. But that last one, at the very least, was to be expected, after all he was younger and what would change about him that pained Adrien so much wasn't any of those things, but his eyes. They had been blue all those years ago. Blue and gentle and alive. Even as he looked back from the rain-beaten window and the surprise at finding Adrien on his work-space turned to heartache, Father was still very much with him.

"Your mother is not home right now," he informed as Adrien stood at the entrance, holding on to the door handle. His father's words were simple, gentle, and they sounded like he thought they answered any question that might have brought Adrien to him. "She had to leave after putting you to bed."

Even if this wasn't the first time, even if it happened often enough, Adrien felt sadness take over his heart.

"Mom had to go to work?" he queried.

"She had to go to work," Father confirmed and just like that he went back to the window, back to staring at the rolling clouds and the night beyond them, the sorrow to his expression telling he expected Adrien to already be gone. That he expected him to have stepped outside, closed the door and and be moving up the stairs. Back to his room. Back to his bed. Not that Adrien understood why he would think that. With the storm roaring and as scared as he was, his father was the person he wanted to be with regardless of his mother being here or not.

"Can I stay with you?" Adrien blurted out, a new bolt of lightning cutting through the night making him brace himself for the roaring thunder just as Father turned back to him, eyebrows raised in surprise, and the storm exploded overhead. " _ _Please?"__

He didn't need to plead. All it took was asking and Adrien was making his way inside, running towards the windows, to Father, closing his hand over his. The two of them had just stepped away from them and walked to the table, however, when Adrien's hand slipped from the large one he was holding and he came to a stop, staring at the table, the pile of things Father had over there, and that somehow he had failed to see until now, making him look from there to his father's back.

"Do you need help?" Adrien offered, attention moving back to the printer and the scanner and the computer and the many __many__ piles of paper that were everywhere, before going back to the Father. Having made his way to sit at the head of the table in the meanwhile, he just shook his head, the expression he gave Adrien seeming to imply it wasn't the first time someone had told him that.

 _"_ _ _Et tu, Brute?"__

Adrien—

Actually he had absolutely no idea what that __meant__. Whatever it was, however, it didn't sound like a 'no' so Adrien dragged the nearest chair out of the way, reached for the pile of papers that waited in the printer and walked up to the head of the table with it. Finding him standing at his side, papers in hand—and the one of on top read 'Agreement' so they sounded really important—was all it took for Father to sigh.

"I have to hire an assistant," he whispered, head sinking into one hand.

"What is that?"

Father glanced his way through his fingers, then straightened, the pen he had just picked up being used to point Adrien's attention towards the chaos—and now also a ringing mobile phone—over his desk.

"Someone to put all these—" he started to say. "In order."

Adrien didn't think his eyes could get any wider.

"There are people who would do _that_ _ _?"__ he whispered, awed, and if Father didn't have the ability to read minds it certainly looked like he did because, attention rising from the papers, he was already giving Adrien... __'The Look'.__

"There is _no one_ , young man," he now told him. "That is going to tidy up your room other than yourself."

As Adrien had said. Mind Reading. Which meant there would be no discussion and all that was left to do was give Father an awkward smile and sprint to the other end of the table.

"I'm getting your phone!"

And get the phone he did. Only, Adrien did it just as the storm went back to roaring and bumming and before he knew it he was running back, trying take cover behind Father. Instead, however, he rammed straight into his arm, this long black line the pen cut right through Father's signature leaving Adrien staring at the paper in horror.

"I'm sorry!" Adrien exclaimed, not that Father seemed that worried. Crumbling the paper and letting it fall on the paper bin at his side, he didn't seem mad at all. In fact—

"I seem to recall your mother telling me," he started to say, going to the computer and hitting 'Print' on an open file before turning back to face Adrien, head leaning on the same hand he was still holding the pen with. "That you were no longer afraid of storms."

Adrien felt his cheeks burn.

"I'm not!" he replied, trying to sound normal and not sulky and all the while keeping an eye on the curtains of rain beating the windows. "I just really don't like them."

A new, louder crash of thunder made him retreat closer to Father, hands closing over his arm. And yes, he could see the way Father was looking at him. The way his eyebrows were draw together. It was mind reading again.

"I'm not afraid of storms!" Adrien insisted and now he did sound sulky. "Like Mom isn't afraid of anything! And neither are you!"

A shadow went through Father's eyes that same instant, his attention immediately going to the rain-beaten windows. It was such an strange reaction Adrien found himself following his attention outside, to the storm his mother too must be seeing, and then back inside, back to Father. There was a sudden weight in his heart.

"Is Mom afraid of something?"

"I don't think she is, no."

He had thought that would make Father happy. That he would be proud. That it was a good thing. But Father just kept looking outside, eyes lost to the storm and all of a sudden Adrien wasn't that certain of anything anymore.

"Are you afraid of something?" he queried, curious, going to follow behind his father when he got up and made his way along the table, stopping by the printer to take a single page out. The way his lips were pursed as he signed it and marched back to the head of the table, left Adrien—who had taken to follow him around like a shadow—to stare at this back. Father __was__ afraid of something, wasn't he?

"What are you afraid of?" Adrien insisted, a thousand hypothesis already on his mind. Back at the head of the table and still on his feet, Father simply squared his papers against the table and picked up a stapler, lips firmly sealed. "Is it spiders? Clowns? Snakes?"

It hit Adrien the same instant he stopped at his father's side.

"It's snakes!"

The stapler completely missed the papers.

"It is _**not**_ snakes," Father retorted, aggravated, and giving another try at stapling. Still, looking up at him, Adrien simply tilted his head, slightly surprised.

"What about the one in the garden?"

Adrien had him. He knew it. But standing at his side, watching Father shake his head at himself, Adrien really wasn't expecting what he said next:

"I never said I liked them."

Adrien blinked. That was—That was the same thing he had said just a moment ago, wasn't it? About the storm. So, did it mean—? He was staring at Father now, hopeful, then beaming at this look that met him for half a second. He did understand! And knowing he did would have made Adrien's day if the phone hadn't started ringing on his hand and almost made the two of them become lodge on the ceiling.

"It's M. Corbyn again," Adrien announced, glancing at the display then back to Father. "Can't you answer?"

Judging by Father's pressing his lips it wasn't that he couldn't answer, but that he didn't want to. This time, however, he did, so Adrien pulled a chair, took a sit, and went to balance his legs back and forth as he waited and watched Father write down all these dates and times. It was only when he disconnected the call that Adrien got to his knees on the chair and leaned forward to take a peek at what Father was scribbling on the side of the paper, the pen cutting through the space under it three times.

 _ ***Hire an assistant.***_

Adrien bit his lips but it was stronger than him.

"I know what you are afraid of!" he announced in the most serious tone he could muster, and Father must know what was coming because he was rolling his eyes already. "It is M. Corbyn!"

" _Bed._ "

They both ended upstairs somehow. Adrien tucked away under the sheets, Father sitting in the chair Mom had left at the side of the bed and fighting with the car-shaped bedside lamp so he could keep working on the pile of papers he had brought with him. It was the phone Father had begrudgingly allowed to come here too, however, and that he had just unceremoniously buried under the pile of stuffed animals at the foot of the bed, that was making Adrien chuckle even as he started to doze off.

"Is Mom going to be away long this time?" he still found it in himself to ask, watching Father circle some numbers in red on the papers. "Do you know when she is coming back?"

Father was frowning. There was more than just one red circle around the number he was presently looking at.

"She will be back as soon as she can," he simply said.

"So—she will be back before we know it?" Adrien insisted, gaze immediately falling on the stuffed animals that hid the phone. "We can call her to say goodnight!"

Father's attention slipped away from the papers that same moment, back to the storm.

"I don't think she can pick up now, son," he said and with that he dropped his eyes, going back to the papers. And maybe, Adrien was just prying at this point, but the way Father seemed to be trying to forget the storm was there made him rise from under the bed sheets to sit in front of Father. Curious. Suspicious. Perhaps even a little bit hopeful.

"Father?" Adrien now said, seriously, his head tilted. "What are you really afraid of?"

They were back to each other now and Adrien wondered, he wondered if Father would tell him. He wondered if he would say it was the storm. He wondered if, after all, it wasn't just him. But instead of speaking, instead of telling him that, Father put his papers aside and picked him up, pulling him to his chest, his head going to lie over his. He hugged him. He hugged him for so long Adrien didn't think he meant to ever let him go. He hugged him until Adrien started to think this was meant to be his answer.

"Father?"

 _But he didn't understand it._

Not even when he hugged Father back.

And the truth was, Adrien wouldn't understand for a very long time. In fact, he would stop being afraid of storms and grow to actually like them without knowing what he had been told back then, he would graduate to fearing missing fencing practice and failing grades and, still, nothing. And then, one day, years later, he would say goodbye to his parents, he would ran after their car, following it as it made its way down their countryside state's gravel path, he would wave as it rolled away, unconcerned and happy, not knowing that last wave Mother had given him, just before fading from view, would truly be her last. That he was never to see her again.

And now, in the present, running out of the living room, panic leading him straight back to the atelier he had searched not even a minute ago, now that Adrien did understand what Father had been so afraid of, there was nothing he feared more than what had been on his mind all those years ago.

" ** **Father!**** "

The calling exploded loudly on the empty atelier, echoing between the marble walls and the stone models, the lack of answer sending Adrien straight back into the atrium, attention going all over it. He had lost count at how many times he had called Father since arriving. One time too many for him not to be here already. And yet—

 _"_ _ _ **Father?!**__ _ _"__

"I don't think he is home, Adrien," Plagg whispered, his head forcing its way out of Adrien's shirt pocket so that he could take a peek around the black and white atrium. "Maybe he is off to work. Wasn't there some trouble from last week?"

Gripping his phone so hard his knuckles were turning white, Adrien marched back inside the atelier, gazing at the chaos of sketches and designs over the desk, his breathing coming in forcefully controlled gulps.

"He is here."

He had no idea what made him so sure of that, but looking outside, through the atelier's windows, the Miraculous biting into his finger like mad, Adrien could see the car Nathalie had been driving this morning parked just in front and he knew _exactly_ why he was so sure of what he said next.

"And Nathalie is here too. _**Nathalie!**_ _"_

Why wasn't she answering either? Not to her own name. Not to hearing Father being called time and time again. Her car— _ _Father's car—__ was right outside! She had to be here! And he knew Nathalie well enough to know one thing above all others. She would __never__ **_**ever**_** ignore him.

" ** **Father! Nathalie!**** "

 _ _What is happening?!__

Where on earth were they?!

Adrien's gaze went back to the phone on his hands. To the three words glaring at him from there. His stomach twisting itself into a increasingly painful knot.

 ***Please, come home** *

 _Home._ Unless Father had gone all the way back to the Loire Valley, back to their countryside estate, home meant this house. So he had to be here. There had to be some place he hadn't—

Adrien was running out of the atelier again, his attention jumping straight to the top floor once he was there, a step back then another, leaving him with his eyes stuck to the landing over the atelier, to the black door that was there and to his very last resort.

Father's bedroom.

 _ _Please, tell me, you are sleeping.__

Not that Adrien thought he was. Not that there was one single part of his mind that believed Father wouldn't have woken up already with the racket he was making. But if there was one single chance—

 _ _Please be asleep!__

Adrien was running up the stairs even before he finished that thought, sprinting passed his bedroom door and up the flight of stairs to his left, exertion making a visible limp break through his stride as he reached the top landing, pulled the door handle down and ran straight into his father's bedroom.

It was like stepping into different house crossing this doorstep. Or maybe, like returning to the house that had stood here before. The room was old-fashioned. Carved panels covered the walls, a red rug was set over a floor that was wood instead of stone, there were no martial lines, no sharp cold angles. And yet, his feet sinking into the carpet, running all the way to the bed, grabbing hold of the nearest bed column, Adrien barely saw any of it. He was searching. Eyes flying over every single place Father could be at. Like—Like the stepladder near the bookcases right by the entrance! Or the sitting space in front of the fireplace! The armchair on the small work-space surveying the front courtyard! The bathroom! The—

His breathing shivered as Adrien run inside the walk-in closet and found himself surrounded by row after row of carefully organized shoes and jackets and shirts.

Father wasn't here. The house was empty. It was all __empty!__ And this time, Adrien barely noticed Plagg when he once again peeked outside his pocket to look around, he barely heard the kwami point out that—

"There is another room."

He barely heard himself whisper:

"That was Mom's bedroom."

He almost didn't hear himself think Father wouldn't be there. Not anymore. Not without her. Because Adrien was back to the bedroom, he had looked towards the bed headboard, and his attention had fallen on Mom's picture, the one that was over the bedside table, and now he just stood here, frozen and with his voice in a broken whisper.

 _"_ _ _Dad?"__

"Adrien?"

His heart jumped. That voice—

 _ _Nathalie!__

She was here! She really was here! And Adrien was running. Not caring how much his ankle was screaming. Not caring to know where Nathalie had just come out of. The only thing that mattered was that when he blasted his way out of Father's bedroom, the door hitting the wall behind him, this CRASH echoing all over the atrium, and he started making his way down, Nathalie was right at the foot of the stairs, looking up, left hand over the stone handrail, a stern expression on her face.

"Adrien, what are you doing—?"

 _ _Here.__ Here would have been her next word, but she never got a chance to say it, Adrien had reached the atrium and tossed his arms around her, fingers sinking into her blouse, face hiding in her shoulder, a strangled sob escaping his lips. He didn't care what Nathalie thought of this. He didn't care what anyone thought of this. Right now, he just couldn't stop thinking about Mother and that one day she was simply gone and—feeling Nathalie's arms close around him, going to hug her as tight as he could—he was just so __relieved,__ she wasn't gone too.

"Where is Father?" Adrien finally managed to ask, the hand Nathalie had been running up and down his hair moving to cup his face, their eyes meeting when Adrien looked up. "I have looked for him __everywhere__ , even in the garden and I can't find him! You know where he is, right?"

Nathalie's fingers combed Adrien's hair away from his face, this __tightness__ around her eyes remaining even as she went to search his expression, frowning at him.

"What are you doing here?" she chose to ask, calmly, and not giving Adrien any chance to interrupt. "Why aren't you at school?"

"I—"

Adrien probably should have been waiting for what happened next. Hiding inside his shirt pocket, faced with his hesitation, Plagg straight up pinched him. It hurt like __hell__. But it also made quite clear what he was trying to say. __Tell her the truth.__ It came tumbling out of Adrien's mouth the next second.

"Father sent me __this!"__

Nathalie's hand fell away from his face, the phone that was now with her leaving Adrien to watch as she read the message—one, two, three times—eyebrows getting more and more raised.

"This has to be a mistake." she said after a moment of staring at the phone in confusion, her attention going back to him. "Your Father his back at headquarters, on account of the problems with the fashion show. He is not here right now."

Some part of Adrien seemed to have just regained the ability to breath, the atrium around him regaining its contours enough that he could see more than just Nathalie as she stood in front of him, that the waiting area to his right, and the open doors to the living room and atelier, were more than just blurs in his vision.

"He is fine?" Adrien even so insisted, watching as Nathalie went back to read the message, perplexed.

"I have no idea why he would send you this," she muttered.

Neither did he but—

"Father is fine, right?"

Nathalie raised her attention from the message, lips pressed.

"Why wouldn't he be?"

"No reason—" Adrien whispered, the phone being returned to his hands forcing him to stop fiddling with the Miraculous. "I just—"

Maybe it was silly that it had just now come to him. Maybe it was even sillier how it did come to him. That it took seeing Nathalie's fingers wrapped around his cellphone, the way her nails were without their pale pink varnish to remember, but— _ _Wait just a second!__

"How come __you__ are here?" Adrien queried, eyes immediately narrowing in suspicion. "Hadn't you an appointment?"

Nathalie didn't even blink.

"Robot."

 _Oh—_

"Right, __Robostus__ ," Adrien cringed, massaging the back of his neck and going back to Nathalie trying to explain. "His name is Markov, Max built it. The teachers decided he was a toy, __they were__ —"

Nathalie knitted her eyebrows in a warning.

" _—_ _ _not that nice__." Adrien finished only for his defiant tone to become pleading. "It didn't mean to do any of that!"

It would have been preferable if he had never said it. If he had never tried to defend Markov. There was something to the way Nathalie went to stand in front of him, her arms crossed, jaw set, __something—__

"It—" Nathalie started to say, eyes boring on his. __"Didn't?"__

There was something in this moment __right now__. In this moment of them looking at each other, of staring into Nathalie's eyes, of searching the blue depths, of wanting to find something there, there was something __here—__ But it wasn't until Adrien reminded himself that he had never been able to read Nathalie's expression, that it was her hands not her eyes that had always been the giveaway, that he got it. For once he looked down, he found her with her arms still crossed and fingers digging into her sleeves. Nails biting into the fabric. Looking like a bird's __claws.__

Adrien suddenly felt sick.

"Is—?"

Nathalie had just noticed him looking at her hands. She was uncrossing her arms, hiding them behind her back. But it was too late. Adrien was looking up and down her now. Eyes jumping from her stockings to her skirt to her blouse. Her clothes seemed intact. She didn't look hurt in any way. But that was to be expected after Lucky Charm. It meant __nothing__.

"You are fine, right?" Adrien heard himself whisper, feet taking him closer to Nathalie, right hand reaching out to close over her arm. "It didn't hurt you, did it?"

Nathalie's posture had just become so rigid she seemed carved out of stone.

"It didn't hurt me, Adrien."

His heart might as well have stopped. Standing here, the cold marble atrium seeming to be closing in on him, eyes on Nathalie's blue ones, hand closed over her arm, Adrien found himself swallowing. Why—Why did her answer feel all sorts of wrong?

"When you say Father is at headquarters—" he insisted, a desperate look being give to her. "He didn't ask you to lie to me, right?"

Nathalie become sterner all of a sudden. Her lips pressed into a thin, straight line.

"You father," she started to say. "Asked me no such thing."

"Then when he is back—"

"I will inform you," Nathalie guaranteed, calmly and only to bore her eyes into Adrien's the next second. "Why isn't your school informing me of your absence?"

Adrien gave a small jump, this certainty that there was no way in the world he was throwing Marinette under the incoming train making him let go of Nathalie's arm and retreat for the front door, a defensive note to his voice.

" _Ah—_ I sneaked out of class, jumped out of the locker room window, please don't tell Father!"

" ** **Adrien!**** "

The front door closed between them before Nathalie could go straight into scolding him and, the very next moment, Adrien was marching across the courtyard, a last look being given to the pale chateau behind him before he turned his back on it and gave the press piled by the gate a small wave.

Adrien would long be passed that group and back on the rooftops, back leaning against a chimney's brickwork and feet on the surrounding black tiles, when he reached inside his pocket, pulling out not his phone but the one he had found upon entering the house. It was Father's phone. And Nathalie hadn't seen it lying on the atelier's floor open in half, much like she hadn't remembered G. wasn't here and that Adrien would be making his way back to school _alone_.

Something was wrong.

Something was very very wrong.

And Nathalie knew what it was. She knew what had happened. Just like she had known back with Mother.

"That doesn't mean we are staying __here__ , does it?" Plagg asked the very same moment Adrien finished speaking, green eyes keeping watch over him as he peeked from behind the chimney, gazing at the chateau that was his home and that was right across the street. "Sure it's tempting! I'm all for lying on the rooftops. Catching some sun. Napping. The cat life. And, I tell you, your Father is just fine! But—" Plagg visibly swallowed, a tense glance being given to the house. "Shouldn't you be, you know, where Nathalie expects you to be just in case he isn't?"

Plagg wasn't wrong and gazing at Father's phone, the pain Adrien had chosen to turn a blind eye to now flaring up his leg with a vengeance, Adrien forced himself to stand up.

"We are going back to school."

But, in truth, it wasn't because of what Plagg had just said. No. It was because Father—and Chat Noir looked back at the chateau one last time, not noticing he was still fiddling with his biting Miraculous—Father was back there. Somewhere. In the house. He just didn't know where to find him.

 **Nathalie**

The front door slipped from Adrien's fingers, the loud crash that was left in his wake drowning both his last plea and Nathalie's outraged cry as he made a break for it and Nathalie stood at the foot of the stairs, the painful tightness on her chest finding no place in her expression even as she remained here, alone.

This one had been close, she couldn't help but think. It had been __too close__.

And how close it had been lead Nathalie to the atelier and up to its console, the clawing fingers Adrien had so cleverly taken notice of, opening and closing before she ran them over the display, swiped the black butterfly away and went to insert the codes Gabriel had trusted her just before turning Hawkmoth against Paris. The same codes he had given her while standing in this exact spot, composed, distant and with eyes so empty it didn't look like he was behind them anymore.

"In case something happens," Gabriel had said with the same indifference with which he had marched passed her, the single-minded determination that had taken him to the Observatory leaving him blind to the way Nathalie's nails bit into the paper he had given her, to the anxious words she had whispered to his back:

"Nothing will happen."

Nathalie closed her eyes, left hand closing tight around her right arm, pulling it closer. She would be laughing at the memory—at herself—if there wasn't a part of her that desperately wanted to cry, if that conflicting emotion didn't mean she was standing dangerously close to hysteria, if emotion wasn't detrimental to facing this one fact—

Something had happened.

It was as simple as that.

And the only allowance Nathalie would give herself right now was not feeling __safe__. If Gabriel's disastrous run-in with Simon Says had taught her something was that she __wasn't__ safe, that nobody was, that the bolts on the front door snapping in place could do little more than buy time, that they were __nothing__. And yet, they were everything she had. Her only ally as she marched up to Emilie's portrait and took a steadying breath, forcing all emotion down, locking herself away where nothing, not even the Butterfly Miraculous, could find her—and only then pressing the combination on the portrait's peacock feathers.

There was a momentary sensation of drop when the lift started moving, the lock closing overhead leaving Nathalie in the dark before cement gave way to glass and the Crypt opened under her. It was a vision she knew well. The heavy machinery keeping the place functional a sharp contrast to the small garden where Emilie rested, peaceful, out of reach and for the first time alone for the white field that always surrounded her was absent, the dozens of butterflies that formed it having chosen to stand vigil over someone else and to wait. To wait for Nathalie to make her way back here. To wait for her to step out of the lift.

"It's just me," she announced and she would have felt silly beyond words standing here talking to __butterflies__ , if the instant she did speak the white field covering the hard metal floor around the lift hadn't taken flight, what seemed to be a thousand petals scattering around her to open a path to the man they had been watching over.

Gabriel sat against the wall to the side of the lift, one leg pulled to his chest and hunched over it, face hiding in one hand, a dozen or so butterflies still on his shoulders. They would stay there, choosing to remain with him, even as Nathalie dropped to her knees at his side.

"I apologize for taking so long," she said. "I ran into Adrien upstairs. He received your message."

Gabriel stirred, a strong shudder running down his back. As much as Nathalie couldn't see his expression right now—what little of his face wasn't hidden by his hand, being covered by ruffled locks of pale blond hair—she could hear his confusion, she could almost feel it.

"My message?" Gabriel whispered and then his voice faded, the pain taking over his expression sending his back crashing against the wall behind him. The butterflies fled at that gesture, going to land on Nathalie's blouse just as the hand that had been covering Gabriel's eyes went to press his forehead, nails sinking into the line of his hair. He stood like that for so long, panting, wincing, Nathalie reached for his arm, hand closing firmly around it.

"Please, say something."

He did.

"I can hear them. All of them."

" _ _Them?"__

A shivering breath and Gabriel continued, eyes closed.

"Reflekta, Animan, Copycat—" He was pressing his head so hard now it looked like it might explode. "They are all __here__ — _ _What is this?!"__

Maybe it was the fear in his voice, maybe it was that the butterflies had clearly become agitated—the ones that were with Nathalie taking flight, the entire group going to circle around the two of them so fast they looked like a tornado—or maybe that didn't change a thing, maybe she would have cupped Gabriel's face either way and waited until his eyes focused to talk:

"Can you stand?"

Nathalie would never know how they made it to the lift, much less across the atelier and the atrium and into the small bedroom where they finally found themselves at. Knowing Gabriel, however, feeling his strength fail as she let his arm slip from around her shoulders, watching him almost collapse while she helped him sit on the bed, she feared her answer was willpower. It was willpower far too many times with him. A fierce unwillingness not to show any sort of weakness. Not to lose face.

And maybe that was the thing about him, maybe that was the reason why after pressing the shutters commands over the bedside table, watching them go down, seeing darkness swallow a bookcase and a dresser and a small living area whose scarce contents spoke volumes about who lived here—and how much of a bad idea her present conduct was—Nathalie was so shocked when she took a single step back and felt Gabriel's fingers reach out for hers. Maybe that was the reason her eyes grew wide when she sat in the armchair she had just pulled closer to the bed—to him—and Gabriel leaned forward, forehead coming to rest against her shoulder, fingers, rough from drawing and holding too many pencils, pressed firmly around hers.

How long did they stay like this? Sitting in the dark, in silence, the rustling of leaves coming from the garden on other side of the closed shutters keeping them company? How long was it since she had arrived? Since coming down from the Observatory? Why—Nathalie's head went to lean against Gabriel's, her fingers pressed tight around his hand—Why was any of this important?

It was only when her phone alarm went off that Nathalie remembered why.

The photoshoot.

Adrien.

And she was back to her feet the same moment, stepping towards the dresser. Gabriel's hand still holding onto hers, however, forced Nathalie to take a single step back and kneel in front of him.

"I have to get your son," she reminded him, quietly, trying to see up and passed the hand Gabriel had taken to hold his head with in her absence. "It should be safe here and you have your phone. Call me if you need. I will be back here with you. I mean it."

Nathalie had hoped for an answer. The only thing she got, however, was Gabriel's fingers slipping away from hers. And then, she was helping him out of his jacket and waistcoat, she was up and at her dresser, she was picking the car's key-card and her wallet and her bag and rapidly stepping to the door. A last glance at the mirror right at the exit, however, brought her to a halt, the door already open in front of her.

She looked—If someone said a downright mess they would have been kind and if Adrien saw her with her hair like this, if he caught a single glimpse of how she looked right now, then—

Nathalie was back at the dresser, turning on the light, rapidly re-doing her hair, trying to pull that single lock that always insisted on not staying put back to its place and then grimacing at her make-up. Of the many things she didn't need right now, this— _ _all of this!__ —took first place. She had to pick up Adrien! She needed to be back here with Gabriel! She didn't need to have her lipstick in hand, or to be opening the dresser's top drawer in search for the eyeliner that had fallen somewhere around here this morning and seemingly taken to hide among her bras! She didn't need this! And yet that was exactly what she was doing! And the only good thing about being still stuck in the room was that she could keep an eye on Gabriel for a little while longer. That at least, she could know he was—

"Master."

Nathalie's hands stopped short of grabbing the eyeliner, the laced fabric of the bra she had just pushed aside biting into her fingers as she felt her breathing caught.

That voice just now... That calling...

"Master?"

It was coming from behind her. There was someone...

If ever Nathalie had been as scared as in this moment she didn't recall it, but neither would she have time to dwell on it. There was a cry. The sound of the bed springs groaning. A crash like something had just hit the floor. And she looked back to see Gabriel kneeling to the side of the bed, panting and wincing. She looked back to see this butterfly looming in front of him, hand outstretched, touching his forehead. She saw the way Gabriel __looked__ at that thing.

Like he hated it.

Like it was to blame for __everything__.

Like he wanted nothing more than to see it gone.

And at that point, something that had been silently boiling inside Nathalie, that part of herself that had veered its head when Adrien had mentioned Robostus, broke through. Calm. Ruthless. The cold gleam taking over her eyes becoming as sharp as a knife as she reached to grab the book that was inside her bag and moved for the butterfly, darkness lending this dark blue tint to her skin, silence following in her wake.

She hadn't thought the thing stood a chance. It never crossed her mind that it would see her coming. That there was a way she could fail Gabriel right when he needed her help. But the butterfly turned just as Nathalie raised the book to swat it, alerted by god knows what. It turned, eyes bulging and shocked to see Nathalie standing behind it, an angry snarl going through her face, her arm falling. She should have hit it! She could have it hit! But right when the book should have made contact, this butterfly shaped-light she had seen around Gabriel's eyes more times than she could count had burned itself over the butterfly's eyes—over her own eyes! And then she couldn't move.

She couldn't __move!__

Do it as she may she couldn't get out of this! She was standing here with a book in her hand, arm ready to strike and she couldn't do a thing! It felt like something had taken over her body. It was like something was __inside__ her body! And if she wasn't so certain this thing had been lying in wait to harm Gabriel, that it planned to do it again the moment she was gone, Nathalie might have noticed the creature—this humanoid being with butterfly wings hovering between her and Gabriel—looked more terrified than threatening. That never had anything looked at her with this much fear—or any fear at all. That it looked trapped rather than standing in her way. It might have crossed her mind she had read this situation __entirely wrong__.

It __might__.

It would.

But right now things just kept getting __worse__. The hand she was still holding the book with was __moving__ away from the butterfly. It was moving on its own, dropping at her side and her fingers were opening, mimicking the gesture of the creature standing between her and the place where Gabriel was still on his knees, fighting to sit on the bed and pressing his head to one hand, breath coming in short pained gasps.

She had to help him. She had to—!

" **Let me go!** "

It wasn't because she had spoken. It had nothing to do with how much she was fighting to free herself. No. The only reason she was ever released was because the butterfly __willed it__ and the instant it did, two things happened. The book Nathalie had been holding crashed to the wooden floor and the creature fled, passing so close to her face its wings grazed her cheek. Then, the butterfly disappeared behind her, the line of light fading from Nathalie's eyes.

Maybe she should have followed it. Maybe she should have turned and searched and grabbed hold of whatever that thing was and questioned it. __Maybe.__ But it wasn't what happened. She didn't follow the butterfly, she didn't try to catch it, instead she was moving passed the armchair where she had been sitting, she was at the bed. She was back with Gabriel.

" ** **What were you doing to him?!**** " Nathalie snapped in cold anger, looking back over her shoulder, towards the small living area, towards the armchair that still remained there and the center desk, towards the place where that butterfly had fled towards. She could feel Gabriel's head falling back against her when she helped him back to sit on the bed. " ** **Come out!**** "

The butterfly didn't seem to be silly to the point of obeying. That or it was no longer here, something which Nathalie, now sitting on the bed at Gabriel's side and pressing his head to her shoulder, __doubted__. There was no way it could have gotten out. There was no way it wasn't in the room! But the thing's luck held out for if Nathalie could very easily see half a hundred places it could be at, if demolishing the room to find it sounded like an awfully good idea right now, she never got a chance to do it. The alarm of her phone was ringing again, from inside the bag she had left on the dresser. And the moment it did the fury that was making her look around, disappeared.

 _ _Adrien.__

He was waiting.

And with the way he was lately, if she stayed here much longer, he would get into his head to get back to the house alone. She had to—

A weak wince rose from near Nathalie's ear, the shivering breath that followed it the only warning she got before all of Gabriel's weight collapsed against her and she was left struggling to keep him straight. It took her a long moment to win that battle, to be able to look at him again, for her fingers to comb Gabriel's hair out of his face, to gaze at him and find him, resting against her shoulder, his eyes closed.

He was asleep.

Or so it would seem.

There was something unnatural to the stillness in his face, to how peaceful he looked that reminded her of __someone__ and that made Nathalie feel like her heart had lodged itself in her throat.

"Sir?" she called out to him, fearful, her hand tremulous when it moved to cup his face. "M. Agreste?"

He didn't answer. He didn't even stir when she pressed his face. Harder this time.

"Sir?"

Nothing. And that same moment, Nathalie's heart started beating so loudly it was all she could hear. The image of a glass capsule and the woman resting inside filing her mind in such a way she was closing her arms around Gabriel, the hand that was cupping his face moving to press him closer, her head going to lie against his.

 _ _Please, no.__

Let it not be that.

One time— _ _Emilie__ —That had been one time too many. It was __enough__. What was she going to tell Adrien? How was she even supposed to—?

" _ _Gabriel__ ," Nathalie called, desperate, back to pressing his face. She was holding him so close now there was no way he wouldn't have heard her. And yet, even when she was distraught to the point the Miraculous between them had to be telling Gabriel all about her, he didn't move. He didn't notice. It was like he wasn't here.

"What did you do to him?" Nathalie whispered, gazing at Gabriel's face, holding him for one last moment before she lowered him to the bed, before she let him go, before she had no choice but to let him go and she went to stand to the side of the bed surveying the entirety of the seemingly empty room. It was not like she expected that butterfly to answer. It was not like she expected it to come out of hiding. And it was a good thing Nooroo didn't. It was a good thing that he remained hidden on the bookcase, that he stayed where he was, curled between a copy of John Williams' "The Theory of Investment Value" and Nathalie's Master Thesis rather than gather enough courage to come out. Nathalie wouldn't have listened—not right now—even if Nooroo had been allowed to speak.

"Sir," Nathalie, at last, said, fighting to keep her voice level as she dropped to her knees beside the bed and took Gabriel's hand in hers, still not giving up. "I have to go. Adrien is waiting."

Nothing. Gabriel wasn't answering. And she couldn't risk Adrien storming the house as he had done in the morning, she couldn't risk him remembering to search for his father in here and finding him like this. She had to take Adrien somewhere else. And, in her distress, fingers squeezing Gabriel's hand, dreading having to leave him here alone with that __butterfly__ , there was only one place she could think of.

 **Marinette**

"This is meeting 4216 of the My Better Half plan," Alya was announcing, the light coming from the round window behind her turning her curly brown hair into this kind of golden halo as she continued, unstoppable as ever. "We gather here today to welcome a new recruit into our cause."

Waving frantically at her best friend, her arm stretched high over her head, and even so managing to somehow fly undetected under her radar, Marinette stole a glance to her side with Alya's words. At her side, sitting on her bedroom's pink carpet and with the stairs to her bunk-bed right behind his back, Alya's new recruit had just grabbed one of the chocolate croissants from the plate in front of him and looked up at Alya, eyebrows raised in an arch.

"Should I introduce myself or something?" he asked, biting into the croissant before turning to Marinette. "Do you two usually say 'hi' at the beginning of these?"

Still waiving, not giving up on getting Alya's attention until there was no hope left in her, Marinette stretched herself the tallest she could while still sitting, trying desperately to be noticed, nervous eyes jumping between Alya and the papers and photos on the magnetic board that stood just in front of her pink chaise longue.

"We don't __usually—__ " Marinette started to say.

"But we are starting now!" Alya finished for her, excited. "Come on, new recruit, on your feet! Give me your best shot!"

"Ah—"

Raising to his full height—which was not small at all—the third element of the group gathered on Marinette's room looked around, his attention going over stuffed animals and sewing supplies, books and a small pile of clothes next to a pink sewing machine, before stopping at this wall to the end of the room. The magazine cuts that hanged there—all of them showing a smiling boy with golden blond hair—left him frowning.

"Hi, I am Nino?" Nino himself said, going back to Marinette and Alya. "You gals kind of know me?"

It was not just Marinette who snorted at his introduction. On her feet, hands on her hips, Alya was chuckling too.

"Were those questions?" she asked while Nino went back to look at the magazine cuts.

"No, but I have a whole lot of them," he admitted, before pointing to his side. "Also, Marinette has been trying to say something for ages."

Her hand now waving from somewhere near Nino's elbow, Marinette breathed a sigh of relief. She could have kissed Nino—Okay, no, not really. But she would be grateful to him __forever.__ It just took him speaking for Alya to blink and drop her attention to her and her already hurting arm.

"Sorry, girl, didn't see you," Alya apologized, taking the opportunity to lean down and pick up one of the glasses of orange juice that were waiting over the carpet. "Speak up."

Marinette gave Alya a strained smile, her attention jumping back to the magnetic board that was the center of her present concerns. If only it was as easy as speaking up. But no. She had to call Alya's attention to the board-problem without alerting Nino. Something which, __unfortunately__ , meant the only thing that came to mind was trying to do that with her eyes—not exactly the most fail-safe way to go at this. Or anything for that matter.

"You forgot __something,"__ Marinette nevertheless said, eyes jumping from her best friend to the photos on the board. "Something __important__."

Alya frowned, stirring her juice with the straw and taking a sip, lips pursed in concentration.

"I did?" she pondered and Marinette nodded vigorously, now signaling with her head towards the board. "Oh, right!"

Marinette almost crumbled over herself with relief, the word _'_ _ _Safe!'__ going through her mind before—

"The My Better Half plan is also known as the Get this Girl her Match plan," Alya launched herself into saying while pointing at a nothing short of despairing Marinette and taking another sip through the straw. "However, we have agreed that is a little too conspicuous to use on a day to day basis so 'My Better Half' is also kind of the code name."

Nino snorted, a smile playing on his face.

"Because that is not conspicuous at all!" he commented in good humor and while fishing a second croissant. His attention was back to Alya when she continued, however.

"Now, today," she said and Marinette was short of just tackling her to the ground to stop what was coming. "We have a new plan. Today, we bring to you _—_ "

 _"_ _ _Alya!"__

"The 'Victory Ball' plan!"

If her Miraculous could just open a hole beneath her, Marinette would have been grateful. Falling through the living room ceiling was in every way preferable to what was going on in here and that could simply be described like this: Alya had just made a theatrical bow, pointing Nino's attention to the board. And there, right there on that same board, clear for him to see were the photos of Juleka, Rose, Alex and Miléne. That, and what was worse, this giant-sized map of one of Adrien's photo shot locations with his picture on the corner. If someone could die from sheer embarrassment and while hiding her face in her hands, cheeks burning, for Marinette this would have been it. Seeming as that apparently wasn't possible _—_

"Wrong side, Alya," Marinette whispered and immediately her best friend turned on her heels, or in this case sneakers, and took in the board. Half a second later, she had reached up to spin it.

"Yeah, this isn't what we are doing," she announced, unconcerned. "Sorry about that, Nino."

Nino, in the meanwhile, was gaping.

"Wait! What on earth was __that?!"__ he exclaimed, dropping low and almost going to lie on the carpet to try and peek at the spinning board.

"The Flower Path," Marinette offered, glancing to the side, hands still hiding part of her face and trying not to look as embarrassed as she felt. "We are just giving it the final touches."

"She means we just have to bring in the girls," Alya clarified, now nodding at the right side of the board and turning back to them. "It is supposed to go up this week."

Both Marinette and Alya smiled at Nino. As things were, however, they seemed to have completely lost him.

"The _ _Flower Path?"__ he repeated, incredulous and looking between the two of them. "Wait a second, when you said meeting four thousand and something does that mean you have the same number of those?!"

Alya shrugged when Nino pointed at the new plan they were showing him, the one he was meant to be part of. How unconcerned her best friend was, however, left Marinette as the only one here with her cheeks burning.

"Not exactly the same number," she went on to say. "Most things end up scratched."

Marinette had to cringe at herself. She had just made it worse, hadn't she? If Nino had had his mouth agape before, now his chin threatened to make contact with the floor.

"You two are completely insane," he whispered, head going left to right as he looked between her and Alya, not seeming to know who should be blamed for this. "Wouldn't it be, you know—not easier in __that sense__ , but definitely easier than __that—__ " He pointed at the board. "To just go ahead and ask the dude out?"

Marinette let her attention drop that same instant, her eyes going to focus on the croissants and the glasses of juice and on Alya's sneakers as they come into view.

"You are forgetting certain factors," she told Nino, taking a step forward.

"Like?"

Marinette dropped her head further at Nino's question.

"Me," she offered at the same time Alya made a discreet gesture her way. "I can't put two words together around Adrien."

Nino parted his lips, only to close them again. His attention moved all over the room before getting back to Alya.

"Can I speak with you?" he asked, a note of urgency in his voice. "Like, _ _right now?"__

"Sure. What is it?"

Nino pressed his lips, looking towards the trapdoor leading to the living room and back to Alya. From where Marinette stood it sort of seemed he wanted to talk to Alya. Alone. But much like with her own eye-dance some minute's earlier _—_

"Nino?"

 _—_ Alya was obviously not getting it and, in the end, Nino gave up.

"So this is about getting you a date?" he asked Marinette and she nodded, risking a glance up to find Nino frowning pensively at her.

"Are you in?" Alya now asked from over them, her voice calling Nino's attention back up.

"Of course, I am in," he said, determined. "Bring it on!"

Alya threw her arms up, what was left of her orange juice almost getting spilled right on top of the two of them making Marinette and Nino jump back just as she dropped to her knees and hugged her boyfriend.

"Have I told you are great?" she said, jumping back to her feet to get the black pamphlets she had stuck to the magnetic board and returning to give one to each of them. Only then did she sit, attention going from an anxious Marinette to a blushing Nino.

"So this is our objective," she announced, showing her own pamphlet to the two of them. The silhouette of a pair dancing and this kind of Venetian Carnival mask behind it made Nino go from embarrassed to excited.

"The school ball?" he asked, dropping his eyes to the pamphlet. "Talk about ambitious!"

"Go big or go home!" Alya announced, winking at Marinette. "But before we jump head first, we have to clear the obvious pitch falls," she said, gaining a determined nod from Marinette. "So, Nino, pitch fall number one: did Adrien invite someone?"

Nino let out a chuckle, still turning the pamphlet back and forth, reading it.

"I don't think he even knows about the ball."

" _ _What?"__ Marinette exclaimed, leaning to stare straight at him. "How can he not know? The school is filled with posters!"

Nino shrugged.

"Guess the dude just goes around ignoring those," he simply said. "I mean, it probably comes with having his face plastered on magazines and billboards. Have you seen the one in _—_?"

He didn't get a chance to continue. He didn't have to. Looking at the ceiling, Marinette was already sighing, dreamy.

" _ _Yes—__ "

"I didn't even get to tell you where!" Nino exclaimed, making Alya chuckle.

"Believe me, she saw it," she said and Marinette felt this pat. Returning from 'Adrien Dreamland', she found Alya with her pamphlet rolled up and still held to her head. "Stay with us, girl," Alya said. "Now, moving to pitch fall number two." Alya raised two illustrative fingers towards Nino. "Does he like someone?"

"I don't know."

Alya raised her eyes to the ceiling, apparently asking a higher deity for patience.

"I told you to ask him!" she groaned, pressing her eyes beneath her glasses. "I asked you so many times!"

"And I did ask him," Nino replied, dropping the pamphlet for the first time. "The dude asked me what did I think!"

Marinette looked towards Alya. She was sitting with her arms crossed and chin up. Despite her silence, however, she was obviously not done.

"And you left him off the hook with __that?"__ Alya indeed insisted.

"What else was I supposed to do?" Nino sighed, looking between the two of them. "Drill Adrien for answers?"

Alya snapped her fingers, ending with her index finger pointed directly towards her boyfriend.

"Yes!"

" _ _No.__ "

"You are his best friend," Marinette joined in, the pleading note to her voice making a shadow of guilt go over Nino's face. "Please, please, ask him again?"

Nino sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I don't think the dude will answer," he told her, apologetic.

And from where Marinette was standing, Alya was definitely not done.

"Well, if he doesn't answer it is a best friend's duty to force the answer out," she said, jumping back to her feet and going to pace around the room, determined. "Then have a go at helping!"

"I am all for the second part, but I won't force the dude to say anything," Nino replied, brow furrowing when Alya, who had made her way behind them, turned back to him.

"You don't have to force him," she said. "You just have to shake him!"

Marinette gave Nino an awkward smile as he looked at her, pointing at his still pacing girlfriend.

"Did she shake you?"

"Kind of?"

And now he turning to get back to Alya, who was on the opposite side of the room.

"You shook __her?"__ he said, incredulous.

"It had to be done," Alya said, unapologetic, and making her way back. "She was all sighs and dreamy looks and telling me __nothing__. The important thing is that I am helping. And you are going to help both her and Adrien!"

Nino was taking off his hat.

"Sure I will, but I won't shake him," he groaned, running one hand through his very short brown hair. "No offense, Marinette, you know I think you are really cool, but let's say for a moment I went with shaking my best friend."

He was back to Alya, hat back in place, arms crossed.

"That dude ended in third place last time he entered a fencing tournament," he pointed out. "I asked him about it. Turns out he sprained his ankle halfway through the competition!" Nino looked between the two of them, trying to make them understand. "The dude got __third place__ with a sprained ankle! I'm sure that makes him pretty much non-shakable!"

Alya stopped on the other side of the croissant plate, arms crossed and unconvinced.

"I don't think that word even exists."

" _ _Also__ ," Nino continued, clearly not caring for such linguistic details and turning to Marinette. "You know why Chloe threw that party after she pulled the fire alarm on your dad's cooking class?"

Marinette was frowning the same moment.

"I know Adrien talked to her."

 _"_ _ _Talked?"__ Nino snorted. "That was not __talking__. He went all serious on her, not to say scary. And not __normal__ scary, mind you. I can deal with normal scary. That was his-old-man-back-home scary."

Marinette and Alya traded a glance, eyebrows raised.

"Really?" they whispered, proceeding to talk at the same time. "I can't imagine that."

"Lucky you, because now I don't have to," Nino replied just as Marinette tilted her head, curious.

"What did he tell Chloe?"

"Something like he couldn't keep being her friend if she behaved like that with the rest of us," Nino informed and at that Alya dropped back to sit crossed legged on the carpet, her eyes wide and bewildered.

"He said that?" she asked with new found respect. "I didn't think he had that in him, he is always so—" Her brows furrowed. "Do you think he meant it?"

"He meant it alright," Nino put forth, darkly. "Look, the thing is, I like Adrien. I really like him. He is this really cool dude, but I already went straight for the wasp's nest with his old man, I get this feeling if you poke Adrien the wrong way you can do the same with him." Nino looked between the two of them, serious. "I won't do that. If the dude doesn't want to tell me who this girl is _—_ "

It felt like a hole had just swallowed Marinette's heart. A sudden silence befell the room. Sitting in front of her, Alya stared at Nino, watching him press the sides of his head, groaning.

"You did ask him," she whispered.

"He likes someone?" Marinette put forth, in a tiny voice.

Nino dropped his hands, shaking his head at himself.

"That was what I wanted to tell __you__ ," he groaned at Alya, before turning back to Marinette. "Look, I couldn't find out who she is! She can be anyone! She can be you!"

Marinette dropped her eyes, a sad gaze being given to the pamphlet she had on her hands before she put it in front of her. Hands going to rest on her lap. This was it then. She—

"Oh no, you are so not going there!" Alya suddenly exclaimed and if Marinette didn't know better, she might have thought Alya had read her thoughts. "You are not backing away! You are not giving up! You are going to Adrien and you are going to say—!"

Marinette looked up, her voice in this almost inaudible whisper.

"Why should it be __me?"__

Alya leaned forward, right over the croissant plate, her hands _ _,__ cold as they were from the orange juice, on each side of Marinette's face.

"The question you should be asking is: why shouldn't it be you?" she said, pressing her cheeks. "Come on, girl! You go out there and invite him! What's the worst thing that can happen?"

Marinette dropped her eyes again.

"He can say no."

"He can say __yes__!"

Nino cleared his throat.

"I think he will say yes," he put forth, and Alya turned Marinette's head so brusquely towards him, Nino jumped. "Dude, do you want to rip her head off or something?!"

"Forget her head," Alya retorted, Marinette's pleading _'_ _ _Please, save me'__ coming mixed with her words. "Why do you think he will say yes?"

Nino was on his knees, trying to get Marinette's head out of Alya's grasp.

"Come on, Adrien was locked at home since __forever__ ," he reminded them, removing Alya's fingers one by one. "He just joined our class. Do you two really think he is expecting someone to invite him? To even want to go with him? I mean, someone who is not Chloe."

A wave of horror hit Marinette that very same instant. Before either Alya or Nino knew what happened, or how she had done it, she had released herself from Alya's grasp and jumped to stand, eyes wide, over her two friends.

"You think Chloe will invite him?!" she exclaimed, barely giving time for anyone to even nod before she turned to the magnetic board with a fiery look in her eyes. "Right. I'm doing it! I am inviting Adrien to the ball!"

Having been catapulted backwards by Marinette jumping out of her hands, Alya whistled, sitting back up and immediately winking at Nino:

"That's was well played."

"What was well played?" Nino asked honestly bewildered, but Marinette had turned back to them and they both were back to smiling.

"I will wait for Adrien tomorrow before school," Marinette announced, determined. "I will be right by the stairs when he arrives and I will say _—_ I will say _—_ "

Marinette swallowed. She could see Alya and Nino looking up at her, expectant. On the small dollhouse she kept on one of her shelves, Tikki herself was peeking through the window.

"I will say _—_ "

Tikki gave her a supportive nod and Marinette took a deep breath.

"Doyouwantogototheballwithme?"

 _"_ _ _What?!"__ two utterly perplexed voices exclaimed just as Tikki let her head fall into her hands and Marinette crumbled back to the carpet, pressing the sides of her head.

"I can't even say it when he is not here!"

Alya and Nino traded a quick panicked glance.

"It just needs a little practice!" Alya tried to reassure. "Tomorrow, we will have it under wraps! Right, Nino?"

"Sure!" Nino concurred, not that he sounded sure by any stretch of the imagination, which meant he ended up being elbowed into being sure a second later. "Of course, you are!"

"And that practice starts right now!" Alya announced, getting to her feet, phone in hand. A glance at its display, however, and she was frowning at Nino. "Don't you have to be home by six?"

Nino took a glance at his own phone and grabbed hold of his bag and a croissant. He was halfway to the trapdoor when he turned back, running all the way back to kiss Alya.

"You two tell me how that practice went!" he exclaimed, back to running to the trapdoor. "I will catch you on the net, dudettes!"

Marinette joined Alya on waving at him, watching as he disappeared down the trapdoor.

"Bye!" they said and turned to each other, Alya still smiling and stealing glances at the trapdoor Nino had just disappeared through.

"He is great, isn't he?" she said, fondly. "Kind of adorably silly."

Silly wasn't exactly the description that come to Marinette's mind.

"I don't think he is silly at all," she remarked, sharply, and, at that, Alya turned to her.

"I didn't mean silly in __that__ sense," she said, leaving Marinette to frown. "Now, girl, we have to practice your lines, because tomorrow you are getting your act together and get Adrien to that ball!"

It was as if a weight at lodged itself on Marinette's stomach.

"R-Right," she stuttered. "But what if _—_?"

"Ah-ah-ah! You are going to take those doubts and toss them far far away," Alya said, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. "Are you hearing me?"

Marinette was hearing her. She was also hearing something else. Footsteps. Someone running across the living room downstairs and then up the ladder. She turned towards the trapdoor in time to see Nino's upper body reaper inside her room.

"What happened?" Alya asked upon seeing him. "Where is the fire?"

Panting, Nino pointed downstairs.

"Adrien is here!"

 _"_ _ _What?!"__

The three of them were thundering out of the attic the next moment, making enough noise that when they entered the stairs and reached the last landing, there was no one that wasn't already looking up. And by no one, Marinette actually meant half the clients inside the bakery but that wasn't whom she was focusing on. No. Down there, in the house's hall, standing next to the front door, stood three people.

The one closest to the open bakery door was Mom, of course, wearing a blue cheongsam, the apron she was taking off telling enough as to the fact she had been busy in the store. Then _—_ then there was __Adrien__. Dreamy and wonderful and right off a photo shot if the way his hair was combed back was anything to go by. The last member of the group was Mlle. Sancoeur—Nathalie—and if she hadn't turned back to Marinette's mom the instant she saw the three of them arrive it was very improbable Marinette would ever have stopped staring at Adrien to look at her.

"I see you already have a full house," Nathalie commented, fingers closing tight over the strap of the white sports bag she was carrying on her shoulder. "If Adrien staying here isn't convenient _—_ "

Marinette jumped, a quick glance at Nino and Alya leaving them all staring at the landing. __What?!__

"He is staying here?" Nino whispered, only to be shushed by Alya right on time for—

"I can find somewhere else," Nathalie was saying.

And now all three of them where trading panicked looks. This very clear "No-no-no!" going through all their faces, leaving Marinette fidgeting.

She had to think of something! Adrien couldn't leave! She had to _—_

 _ _Come on, say something!__

"I live here!" Marinette immediately blurted out and why did she have to say something utterly stupid and obvious and _—_?!

"I practically live here!" Alya jumped in.

"I missed the metro!" Nino joined them and, honestly, it was just not the two of them that were staring at Nino. Adrien was too. And Mom. And Nathalie as well.

"He means the bus!" Marinette had enough presence of mind to say. "He missed the bus!"

"The __metro?"__ Alya whispered behind her.

"I panicked!" Nino groaned and Marinette turned to her mother trying to catch her attention. Suffice it to say that trying to catch anyone's attention today was kind of a lost cause.

"We can give you a ride home, dear," her mother was indeed already offering Nino, the way she went on to look passed the bakery door and take in the large number of costumers presently filling it _—_ not to say Dad trying to keep the boat afloat all on his own _—_ gave Marinette this tiny bit of hope that that wouldn't be possible.

And then Mom turned to Nathalie.

"If it isn't much trouble, could you _—_?"

"Of course," she said, her attention drifting to Adrien for a moment before she turned to look up towards the landing. Straight at Nino. "Unless a ride defeats the purpose."

A embarrassed expression flashed through his face.

"It kind of does, actually," Nino straight up admitted and then snapped his hands in front of his mouth, incredulous at himself, staring right at Nathalie. What she offered him as answer was little but a shadow of a smile, but Nino turned red all the same.

"Pretty scary?" Alya commented the same moment Marinette's mom finished saying she would call his parents and Nino turned back to see Alya's smile getting broader and broader with each word.

"I better invite you to that school ball just to be on the safe side," she teased. "You know, like I'm doing now?"

"W–What?" Nino stuttered, looking between her and Nathalie, visibly confused. "Why would I invite her? I want to go with __you__. And I have been working on this entire speech! And flowers. I even asked Marinette if she can teach me her bonbon recipe and I have this box _—_ "

Alya was turning to Marinette now, then back at Nino as he went into this highly detailed description of everything he had prepared.

"He asked for your bonbon recipe?" she whispered, leaning closer to Marinette and wincing at her half smile. "I just messed up, didn't I?"

"Just pretend you didn't ask him," Marinette whispered back. "And that you don't know."

Alya's eyes widened.

"You are actually kind of good at this, aren't you?"

Marinette smiled, attention going all the way down to the ground floor where Nathalie and her mother were talking, back to Adrien. If only she was any good on her own end... Her heart gave a small jump the next moment. Adrien had just looked to the landing where they where, this small smile being sent up as he raised one hand, waiving at _—_ –

Marinette blinked, looking at her side, to Alya and Nino that were pretty much too wrapped up in each other to pay attention to anyone else, and then back at Adrien, who was still waiving at _—_

 _ _Me.__

He was waiving at her!

 _ _Wave. Come on, wave back!__

Marinette meant to wave, she swore she did, but instead she hit the metal handrail while bringing her hand up, got it stuck there and ended up burying her head in her hands. Why was she such a klutz?!

"And, Adrien _—_ "

Nathalie's voice brought Marinette back to the entrance, to see Adrien go back to paying attention to the adults around him _ _,__ who had apparently now finished speaking. A sigh immediately made its passed his lips.

"Best behavior?" Adrien finished before Nathalie could, eyes meeting hers. "You know you are starting to sound like Father, right?"

Fingers closing tighter over the sports bag strap, Nathalie closed her eyes for a moment.

"I was not telling you to behave," she then said. "I trust you will. I was just reminding you that your bodyguard will pick you for school tomorrow morning. Refrain from disappearing under his watch. You know how much that worries your father."

Adrien dropped his eyes _ _.__

"I know," he whispered, the bag Nathalie was carrying changing hands leaving him looking at her for a moment. "You will tell me when you are back to the house, __right?"__

"Of course."

It seemed to be enough for Adrien to believe her. He was walking _—_ _ _limping—__ towards the stairs now, sports bag in hand, school bag over his shoulder _—_ And then, then he stopped, a strange expression going over his face as he fished a phone from inside his pocket and turned around, making his way back to Nathalie.

"And, please, give this to Father," he said, putting it on her hands "I found it on the atelier's floor, this morning. __Guess__ he must be looking for it."

Nathalie's widened. She was looking at Adrien, then at the phone, fingers closing over it.

"He–He must," she stammered. "I will see you tomorrow, Adrien."

"Bye."

And he took a step back, glancing at Nathalie over his shoulder even as he climbed the stairs. The moment he stopped in front of them, however, the strange expression that was on his face turned to a smile.

"Guess I am staying here," Adrien announced in disbelief, and at that Alya and Nino jumped, arms raised and excited.

"Slumber party!"

They were towing Adrien up the stairs now. Nino in charge of the school bag. Alya with the sports one. Both talking non-stop. Their quick reaction was such Marinette found herself falling behind. That she found herself alone on the landing when her dad entered the atrium to give a box with pastries to Nathalie. That she was still __here__ when her mom approached Nathalie. That she still got to hear what they said.

"I do apologize for taking advantage of your hospitality with such short notice," Nathalie was stating, speaking in a quiet whisper. "It is hardly my or M. Agreste's intention to be a burden by leaving Adrien in your care."

Her mother shook her head.

"We offered," she smiled. But she looked worried. She looked very very worried.

And it hit Marinette right then. That something was wrong. That something must be wrong for Adrien to spend the night here. Only right at the moment she decided to head downstairs and ask what had happened, Marinette recalled the state of her room. She remembered the board and the magazine cuts and that Adrien was right on route to see all of that and instead of going down, she sprinted after her friends, the stairway exploding in one panicked exclamation:

" _ _ **Alya!**__ _"_

 **Adrien**

"What are they __doing?"__ Adrien queried, eyebrows raised in an increasingly higher arch as both him and Nino stood in the Dupain-Cheng's living room, attention stuck to the closed trapdoor on the ceiling, the very same trapdoor that lead to Marinette's attic bedroom and through which both she and Alya had disappeared some fifteen minutes ago, seemingly to run a marathon on the upper floor.

"Are they tidying up or something?" Adrien wondered, stealing a glance at Nino, who stood there, wearing a smile so tense it seemed about to crack his face in half.

"I–I don't know."

" ** **Do you need help?**** " Adrien shouted to the upper floor, a single step taking him close to the attic's ladder. " ** **Seriously, we can help!**** "

" ** **We are fine!**** " Marinette and Alya spoke at the same time, the sound of something heavy being rolled around leading Adrien straight back to Nino.

"It isn't that messy, is it?"

"Maybe they are making it messy!"

Of all things that made absolutely no sense—

Adrien shook his head, looking back up:

"Why would they make it messy?"

Footsteps coming from the house's stairway spared Nino the trouble of trying to come up with a sensible answer—or any answer at all—for Adrien's bewildered question. Looking back, the sounds coming from the upper floor making them glance at the ceiling all the same, Adrien and Nino watched Sabine Dupain-Cheng step out of the stairway and into the living room. She was bringing a plate with her. A plate that was covered with a cloth and giving away this absolutely heavenly smell.

"I believe my daughter is bringing down her shrine," Sabine said with a good-humored smile, the loud CRASH coming from upstairs making her, much like Adrien and Nino, jump. " **Marinette!"**

" ** **Sorry, Mom!**** "

" ** **Sorry, Mme. Dupain-Cheng!**** "

Sabine shook her head, giving out a soft exhale before turning back to them. The reason for the mouth-watering smell that was following behind her was revealed once she pulled the embroidered cloth from the top of the plate she was carrying and showed its contents to them.

"I have brought this for you," Sabine announced, the nothing short of glorious pile of croissants that was now in the middle of the three of them making Nino and Adrien trade a panicky glance and cross their arms, their visible effort not to fall on the food like a pair of ravenous wolfs before the girls were even here, making Sabine give out a heartfelt chuckle.

"Take one," she offered looking at them in turn. "I just took this batch out of the oven. There is __chocolat, jambon et fromage, almond…__ Those are the ones on the left. Right next to the chocolate ones."

The hand Adrien had been hovering over the plate closed over one of the still warm almond croissants, his stomach giving this loud growl just as he prepared to bite into it, making him blush.

"I haven't eaten since lunch," he apologized and at that exact moment Nino lost all manner of control, taking one of the chocolate croissants, sinking his teeth right into it.

"I ate three already!" he announced in the tone of one who had found paradise and who had to quickly think of something not to eat it. "They are really good!"

Sabine gave him a gentle smile.

"If you want I can pack some of your favorites to take to school tomorrow," she offered to the two of them just as Nino seemed to find a way to stop himself from eating and reached to take the croissant plate from her hands. "Oh… Thanks. But you don't have to, I can take it upstairs."

Nino's response was physically impossible seeing as part of his "Stop eating the croissants right now" strategy had consisted on shoving half the one he had taken from the plate into his mouth and eat it anyway. That left Adrien as the only one here who could still speak.

"We are going there anyway," Adrien told Sabine, glancing at the trapdoor. __I hope,__ he thought. By the sound of it, there wouldn't be much of a room to go to when Alya and Marinette finished. "What does she even have a shrine to?"

Nino almost dropped the plate at the question. Sabine's naive expression in the meanwhile looked so sincere that, biting through his croissant—and these were really really good—Adrien couldn't help but think it had to be false.

"Did I say shrine? Silly me," Sabine smiled, brown eyes going up to the trapdoor when Marinette stuck her head through there, her upside-down position leaving her ponytails to fall at the sides of her face. "Everything hidden?"

" _ _Mom…__ "

Whatever it was that Alya and Marinette had been doing in the bedroom up until now, wasn't that obvious once Adrien and Nino went up the stairs and stepped inside. The room was very much like it had always been. At least, from what Adrien remembered.

There was this long desk where Marinette kept both her computer and sewing machine, equal amounts of books and magazines fighting for space over it. Fashion posters hanged on the far off wall. Stuffed animals peeked from here and there. There didn't seem to be anything missing. Or anything that hadn't been here before, so, even if kind of baffled by what Alya and Marinette had been up to, Adrien followed his friends to the pink carpet next to the bedroom's round window, watched as Nino triumphantly put the plate of croissants he was carrying next to the one that was already there, and dropped to join in the circle formed by his friends, a curious expression to his face.

"What are all of you doing here?" Adrien asked, looking at the three of them. His answer turned three voices into one.

"Conspiring!"

"About what?"

"This!"

And just like that Alya, who sat in front of Adrien, right on the other side of the two croissant plates, pushed this dark piece of paper she was holding into his hands, a three-person "Ta-Tan!" going to fill the room when he looked down.

"A school ball?"

"The School Ball," Nino corrected, speaking from Adrien's right. "There is one every year!"

Adrien was turning the pamphlet back and forth, not so much reading it as staring at the images, a surprised expression on his face.

"I didn't know schools had balls," Adrien whispered, looking back up. "Have you gone before?"

"First year!" all three of them announced, before Alya proceeded to point at Marinette:

"This girl here is going to make both our dresses and his clothes."

A gentle smack to her leg from Alya and Marinette jumped.

"I–I can make yours too!" she immediately told Adrien.

"Really?" Adrien whispered, staring at her. "You would? That's great. Is it formal?"

"It's a masquerade ball," Alya clarified, excited, fingers tapping on the pamphlet Adrien was holding, pointing his attention to this small mass of text written in golden letters. Adrien had gone all the way to the third point when he spotted what Alya meant.

"Make your own mask," he read, going back to his friends. "Who are all three of you going as?"

Marinette, Alya and Nino traded a quick look before turning back to him. Alya, unsurprisingly enough, had once again been elected as the group spokeswoman.

"I wanted to go as Ladybug," she admitted. "But Marinette said that even if no else is going as Ladybug—"

"Which they most definitely are," Marinette, quietly, not to say wisely, put forth.

"—Chloe will go as her," Alya finished. "So Marinette came up with the idea that we should go as a group."

Adrien looked up from the pamphlet he had gone back to reading, interested.

"That sounds cool," he said.

Alya's face opened with a smile.

"Doesn't it?" she beamed, turning back to Marinette. "See? Even he thinks it's cool!"

A smile trembled on Marinette's lips, her eyes fleeing from him to the floor when Adrien looked her way.

"So ideas?" Alya went on to ask Adrien. "We are kind of stuck on the planning stage."

As much as he would like to help _ _,__ Adrien ended shaking his head. Creativity wasn't exactly his strong point.

"Not really," he admitted, turning back to Marinette. "But I know you will come up with something great!"

Marinette's eyes widened.

"I–I will?" she stuttered and then she straightened, looking like she had just remembered what they were talking about. __Fashion__. She nodded.

"I will," she told herself, confident, and at that curiosity got the better of Adrien. It irrevocably and completely did.

"Who are you going with?" he asked, only to snort when Alya and Nino very peremptorily pointed at each other.

"I know you two are going together!" Adrien said, chuckling, and went back to the person he had actually been talking to. "I meant who are you going with?"

Marinette blinked, going to stare at him as Adrien leaned his head over one hand, smiling.

"I—"

She glanced at Alya for some weird reason. Then at something on the back of her bedroom, something that seemed to be somewhere near this dollhouse Marinette kept on one of her shelves. Then, she took a deep breath and—

"Marinette?" Adrien called out to her after a long __long__ moment of watching her fidgeting. "Is something wrong?"

Nino and Alya traded a glance.

"She is still making up her mind!" Alya jumped in, grabbing one of Marinette's arms and pulling herso close to her it kind of looked she was trying to get Adrien's attention away from Marinette. Of course, that was so silly it couldn't possibly be it. "So—Who are you going with?"

Be it as it may, it worked. Adrien was looking at Alya now, eyebrows raised.

"Me?"

"Isn't there anyone you want to invite?"

It was Adrien's turn to blink, a smile crossing his lips as he went to shake his head. The girl that had immediately came to his mind, blue-eyed and dark-haired and hiding behind the name Ladybug meant only one thing—

 _ _That can't happen.__

Still—and at this Adrien turned back to the pamphlet, frowning at the Venetian mask—if this was a masked ball, if he wasn't going to know who Ladybug was anyway, then maybe...

"Do you mind if I take this home?" he asked, going back to his friends, pamphlet being turned their way. "I better show it to Nathalie before I start making plans. She can talk with Father."

Marinette, Nino and Alya leaned his way, an excited gleam to their eyes.

"And the Almighty Dude will let you come if she does?" Nino spoke for all three of them, his choice of words making both girls snort so hard, air came blasting out of their nostrils.

"Probably," Adrien replied, trying both not to get his hopes up and to ignore the painful twist to his stomach as he went back to reading the pamphlet. "I mean, getting me to school must have been a lot harder than—"

Adrien's phone had just pinged from inside his pocket. Getting to his feet, a quick "Be right back!" being left on his wake, he half-limped to stand under Marinette's bunk-bed, right next to a desk and this book on Greek Mythology he didn't even glance at. Then, he took the phone out of his pocket and frowned at the message on the display.

Nathalie. It came from Nathalie. She was back at the house and, apparently, she thought it necessary to send proof she was by attaching a photo of the entrance complete with the car console and the clock glaring from there. It made Adrien smile, albeit sadly, and then pull his contact list all the way down. He knew there wouldn't be anything under Father's picture—he didn't even have his phone right now—but there wasn't anything elsewhere either. Not a hint he had at least tried to say what was going on.

 _ _You promised.__

And he should have known better.

 _ _I really should.__

And going back to Nathalie to send a message her way, Adrien put his phone back in his pocket and a smile on his face, and rejoined his friends on the round carpet, looking as if he didn't have a care in the world _ _,__ not knowing Marinette had been watching him the entire time.

At least, Adrien thought, as he was rapidly pulled into the ongoing conversation, Nathalie was still as good as her word.

 **Nathalie**

The bedroom door clicked back in place, the sound of the key being turned on the lock barely audible on the reigning silence as Nathalie made her way inside the room, not troubling herself with switching on the lights, a glance passed the living area and towards the place where Gabriel lied making her heart grow heavy.

She had hoped—It didn't matter what she had hoped. Stopping near the dresser, her ankle-high boots left behind, both her bag and the cardboard box Tom Dupain-Cheng had given her being put over the dresser, Nathalie looked around the dark room, trying to find the butterfly that had been here previously, her eyes keeping at it even as she turned to the mirror and leaned her head down, starting to go over her hair.

It might be a ruse to find wherever that small creature was hiding, but to work around the pins keeping her hair in place, to take each one out, to place them on the small plate over her dresser, to have some control over something was calming. Or, at least, it was up until the point her phone pinged, the display turned on inside her bag and her attention was called there.

 _ _Adrien__ , the identification read.

It shouldn't surprise her that he had answered. And reaching for the phone, taking it out of the bag, it didn't surprise Nathalie either what it was that he had written.

 _ _ ***Is Father back yet?***__

Nathalie's hair fell to her shoulders, cascading down her back in long black locks. Looking at herself in the mirror—the illusion of control now shattered—her face allowed itself a rare display of emotion, of raw distress, before Nathalie took a deep breath and went to focus on the mirror, looking back towards the bed.

Gabriel was as she had left him. Lying on his side. The fleece blanket she had covered him with before leaving still pulled to his chest. He was exactly as she had left him up to the silence that consumed the room. A silence so deep she couldn't even understand if he was __breathing__ and that left Nathalie standing here for a long while. Watching him. Still trying to find that __butterfly__. Desperately listening _ _.__ Adrien's question glaring at her from the phone.

She couldn't delay answering him forever. As much as she dreaded what she may have to tell him, she couldn't do that. And so Nathalie made her way to the bed, hesitating for a second before sitting, her hand hovering between the lamp on the bedside table and the shutter's controls before deciding for the latter and pressing the buttons.

The light from the garden illumination peeked timidly inside the room as the shutters went up, its glow so weak it barely had enough strength to reach the place where Gabriel lay, right under the window, before fading. Still what little light there was in the room right now was enough to leave Nathalie tense, her attention stuck to this indentation on bed sheets, right between Gabriel's chest and arm.

It looked like something had been there. Something—Her hand closed over Gabriel's shoulder.

"M. Agreste?" she called out to him. "Sir. Are you—?"

Silence took over the room again. Nathalie's voice dying as she sat there, thumb moving up and down Gabriel's shoulder. That she could see him breathing, his chest rising and falling softly, didn't seem to be enough, however, for her to be able to force the rest of the words out.

"Sir—"

She truly couldn't continue. Not even in her mind could she bring herself to finish. To risk him not answering. And instead of trying to get Gabriel to wake up—to shake him or call him or do whatever she must to make him stir—Nathalie's attention was drifting to his high collar, to the way it was very clearly biting into his neck. That he couldn't be comfortable was the last thing that should be on her mind right now. She had Adrien waiting. She had that butterfly to worry about. And yet she was reaching to loosen Gabriel's collar. Her fingers running over the fabric, sliding over it, making their way to the button on the front of the shirt. Nathalie didn't even remember the Miraculous was right on her way until her fingers went over something warm, something that was softly pulsing and a large hand immediately snapped shut around her wrist, stopping her in her tracks.

Nathalie didn't think she had ever moved as fast as now. Her fingers hit the light on the bedside table as she had dropped to her knees at the side of the bed, the hand Gabriel had pulled away from the Miraculous still wrapped around her wrist.

"M. Agreste?"

Maybe it was her voice that reached him. But in the end, it didn't matter. She couldn't care less what it was. The light from the bedside lamp washing over his sharp features, Gabriel was stirring, his eyelids fluttering, eyes opening, and there was this moment of recognition, of feeling his fingers slipping away from her wrist, of them reaching to touch her face—

"Nathalie?"

There was this moment in which it was just the two of them.

"What are you—?"

—and then Gabriel must have seen something or felt something or been sent plunging straight into her anxiety for Nathalie could see her distress take over his face, she could see him looking up, towards the house, she could see her fear take another form upon finding it empty, a much more terrible form—

 _"_ _ _Adrien?"__

—and send him straight back to her.

"Where is he?!"

If there was one single thing that Gabriel might have said, one single thing he might have asked, __this__ —

"Adrien is fine," Nathalie whispered, the pressure from the hand that was still cupping her face softening as Gabriel kept searching her eyes. "He is not here. I took the liberty of taking him out of the house, after—"

It was too much all of a sudden. Gabriel's presence. His touch. Being this close to him. Even looking into his eyes. It was all too much when just a moment ago she had thought he would never wake up. And so Nathalie was up, marching away from the bed, from him, taking refuge in the dark living area, stopping only when she reached the support table. If it looked like she was fleeing was because she was. She needed a moment, a minute, even half a second would do, to collect herself right now.

"How do you feel?" she whispered.

There was a long moment before Gabriel answered. A long long moment that seemed to say she hadn't been the only one who needed to step back. And then, the mattress' springs groaned, snapped, and a shivering breath gave way to Gabriel's exhausted voice.

"About as good as I look no doubt."

That might be a smile on her face. A fond smile. A relieved smile. But it wouldn't last. She would never allow it to. And so Nathalie stole a glance over her shoulder to see that Gabriel still sat on the bed, that he remained there, legs covered by the fleece blanket, head sank into one hand, hair ruffled, dark circles under his eyes, rather than already be on his feet, and pursed her lips. Her answer about how he felt was a lot more clear than it needed to be.

"I will risk saying you are not feeling your best," Nathalie offered, the scoff that met her words making her go back to look over her shoulder, back towards Gabriel. "Would you prefer me to be honest?"

That glare of his would have been eloquent enough without him speaking.

" _ _No.__ "

As would have been Nathalie's stern expression.

"I'm very glad to hear it," she replied. __If mostly because I wouldn't even know where to start,__ she stopped herself from saying, hands going to busy themselves with collecting the pillows on the nearest armchair, half-an-eye still being kept on Gabriel. "What happened?"

"I made a mistake."

Nathalie's nails bit right into the pillow she had just picked up. One moment later, she had turned, serene, collected, and with something she hadn't wish to say, something that was not her place to say, right on her lips.

"This mistake—" Nathalie pondered, head softly tilted. "—it happened before or after you started to smuggle explosives into the house?"

If she had ever seen Gabriel caught by surprise this was it. Sitting on the bed, the fingers he had been running back and forth over his forehead falling away, he stared at her, then—Then, his expression hardened.

"You saw __those.__ "

"Not in any of the billing documents you sent me," Nathalie observed, now making her way back to him with the pillows. She had just stopped near the bed when she frowned, looking down at Gabriel, watching him go back to rest his head on one hand, tiredness already taking over him. Her voice dropped. "How did you get them?"

"I have my means."

A frustrated pinching of the lips later and Nathalie was back at her game.

"You akumatized someone," she remarked, now trying to put the pillows behind Gabriel's back. What surplus of cooperativeness he had on trying to help her with that, however, he lacked on absolutely everything else.

"I meant money," came the tired answer and Nathalie dropped her efforts so completely the embroidered pillow she was putting behind his back tumbled to the floor, hitting her bare feet just as she went to stand high over Gabriel, arms crossed.

"You __akumatized__ someone," she repeated. And unsurprisingly enough—

"I __akumatized__ someone."

Nathalie shook her head, the exhausted note to her answer making her press Gabriel's shoulder, pushing him carefully until he lowered himself into the pillows. She would be lying if it didn't worry her to see how deeply he sank into them, to feel the way her hand rose and fell along with his chest, to see him cover his eyes again... but in the end there was little she could do other than put her glasses over the computer on the bedside table—the place where Gabriel's too rested—lean to pick up the pillow that had fallen to the floor and think of some topic with which to distract him. Which she did think of, once she sat on the armchair near the bed with the pillow over her skirt, fingers tracing the embroidered carnations on it.

"Considering I am responsible for balancing your checkbooks," Nathalie heard herself stating, falling back to her professional persona. "How much—?"

Her eyes sharpened. Watching Gabriel's hand fall away from his eyes, catching a glimpse of how empty his expression had become, Nathalie might actually not be paying as much attention to him, however, as she was mentally checking his transactions. Now that she thought about it, there hadn't been anything remotely suspicious in his finances, which, knowing what she did now, was suspicions for an entirely different reason.

"Tell me you didn't __steal__ those things," Nathalie heard herself whisper and there was this blue gleam to Gabriel's eyes, that—Nathalie jumped to her feet. "You stole them!"

It was very possible that "Tsk" coming from Gabriel might have been directed not at her outrage but at the fact she was looking at both door and window, leaning over the bed— _ _over him__ —to look outside, into the garden, searching, expecting—

"There will be no weapons dealers storming in here," Gabriel snapped, irritably, and she turned to look at where he laid, half-sitting, half-lying on the bed, back sank into the pillows, her eyes boring into his.

"There __won't be?"__

"No."

Nathalie went back to sit, one hand running through her black hair, pulling it back. She was still shaking her head in disbelief when she spoke:

"You are not getting any more of those."

And if anyone expected that to be well received—

"I feel I should remind you, __Nathalie__ ," Gabriel hissed. "This is my house."

She failed to see how that changed anything.

"You __won't,__ " Nathalie stressed, leaning forward. "Get any more explosives."

Maybe it was a good thing Gabriel was this exhausted. It might have taken a moment, a long long moment, but in the end her answer came with a long exhale. It came with him sinking even deeper into the pillows. It came with—

"If it is that important to you."

Nathalie sat straighter. It wasn't __that__ what was important to her, it was—! She was looking anywhere but at Gabriel all of sudden, leaning back into the armchair, the pillow that was again over her legs being pulled closer to her. When Nathalie again talked, the building emotion that had been about to spill out of her chest was gone.

"What happened?" she asked Gabriel now, and this time she waited. This time, she would have let him answer—If that stubborn look Gabriel had on his face, didn't mean she would have to try to convince him to.

"I know about the robot," Nathalie pointed out, calmly, and at that Gabriel scoffed.

"You and the entire city," he remarked, one hand running through his hair, trying to pull it back from his face. Nathalie had seen Adrien do this exact gesture enough times to know exactly what the end result would be. It fell straight back. And the way Gabriel kept fighting to have his way would actually be endearing if that answer of his was remotely what she was aiming for. If Gabriel didn't know exactly what she had meant.

"It tried to kill you," Nathalie spelled it out.

"I thought we had already ascertained with that—" Gabriel voice filled with disdain. "— _ _illusionist__ , that it is indeed possible."

Nathalie sighed. Now, he was just being difficult.

"The illusionist didn't turn against __Hawkmoth__ ," she remarked, patiently. "None of them ever did. __What happened?"__

It was one of those moments. One of Gabriel's infamous stare downs. God knows they were still effective even with him lying in bed and looking the worse for wear. But she couldn't back away this time. And so, much like this very morning with Adrien, she held Gabriel's gaze. And much like Adrien, eventually, Gabriel relented.

"I told Robustus what those two Miraculous can be used for," he admitted, irritation flaring on his face. "It was stupidity on my part, there is nothing more to it."

There was something more to it, Nathalie thought, concerned. Something he wasn't willing to tell, and the way Gabriel went to change to subject, frowning, said it quite clearly.

"I don't recall leaving the Observatory," he pointed out. "The last thing I recall—" Gabriel frowned, deep creases appearing on his forehead as he sat there, sank into the pillows, trying to remember. "—is you arriving. I don't remember getting to my room. How did you manage the stairs—?"

It seemed to hit Gabriel just as he spoke. That this wasn't his bedroom. That there couldn't possibly be a way she could have "managed the stairs." That he wasn't anywhere he knew. And that very moment Gabriel pulled himself off the pillows, alarmed, his hand flying to close protectively over hers just as his lips parted. He meant to call Hawkmoth forth. He was calling him forth. But right when he was about to do it, Gabriel's eyes fell on the dresser in front of the bed, on her bag as it laid on top of it, on the black jacket on the hanger right next to the entrance's mirror, on the shoes she had left near the door, and apprehension gave way to confusion.

"Where—?"

Gabriel had just looked through the window at the side of the bed. He was gazing at the wall that was just in front, at the neatly cuts shrubs peeking from the other side of a small path. It was the lower branches of a magnolia in blow, however, that made his eyebrows rise with recognition.

"The side path," Gabriel now whispered, attention coming back inside. "This is your room."

Nathalie sighed, left hand again running through her hair, combing it back. If by this being her room, Gabriel meant the first place she had found to dump what little of her belongings she had managed to get from her own home after that— _ _situation__ with Adrien and the press had made Gabriel fly into a fury and drag both her and his son to Paris, then, yes. This was her room.

"I feel I should mention your condition didn't offer me much of a choice," Nathalie stated, watching Gabriel as he reached for his glasses, going back to look around the room. "I'm perfectly aware of how unprofessional this is."

As luck would have it, Gabriel's attention chose the exact moment she said that to fall on the beige jacket and waistcoat that were at the foot of the bed. The ones she had help him take off. The ones he visibly didn't remember undress.

Nathalie had to shake her head.

"All of this is," she whispered, not that Gabriel seemed to care all that much. Looking from the white shirt he had on to the room, then at her, eyebrows knitted in confusion, he didn't seem to care for much of anything except for one thing:

"Why?"

Nathalie was left staring.

 _ _Why?__

He had to ask __why?__

"I couldn't leave you up there."

Gabriel's expression hardened, lips pressing into a thin line, eyes hard as steel.

"You should have."

Maybe that shouldn't have hurt but it did. And so Nathalie dropped her gaze, going to focus on the carnations on the pillow that was in her lap. She never looked up. She never saw Gabriel's expression crumble to guilt.

"You are cold," he whispered, the hand he still held over hers going to press around it. It felt like an apology and with it Gabriel was on his feet, a clear moment of vertigo leaving him swaying before he walked to the foot of the bed, fingers searching through his jacket's inner pocket. He ended making his way back with the scarf he had been wearing this morning, hands working to fold it in length and—

Nathalie blinked when the scarf was wrapped around her shoulders, surprise making her raise her eyes to Gabriel just as he offered her hair this frown and reached forward, fingers grazing her check, to comb it behind her ear.

If time could just freeze when their eyes met... But it moved forward as ruthless as it always was and Gabriel shook his head, let his attention wander away from her and went back to sit on the bed, expression distant, voice going back to that emotionless register she had become all too familiar with.

"The Observatory?" he now asked, elbows over his knees, a frown being directed at her. It took Nathalie a moment to stop looking at the scarf and go back to him.

"It's fixed," she informed and at that Gabriel looked at the wooden floor, pensive, his fingers steepled.

"I suppose that bug—"

If any of them had forgotten what had gotten them here, into this room, in the first place the universe certainly did not. The words had just became stuck in Gabriel's throat, panic and pain were flaring through his face, and Nathalie was up before she had time to think, jumping out of the armchair to hold his shoulders, seeing he curled over himself, fingers clawing at his head.

It was just like in the afternoon. The wincing and the panting and seeing pain run unchecked through Gabriel's face. And maybe it was due to concern, maybe it was because she could do nothing but sit at his side, because there was nothing to do but be here, but this seemed to have no end. It seemed like it would never subside. But it did subside. Eventually. And when it did, being helped back to bed by Nathalie, his back sinking into the pillows, Gabriel looked drained.

"The robot..." Nathalie gathered enough courage to say once he was comfortable, her voice barely a whisper, fingers combing Gabriel's hair out of his damp forehead. "You said you wouldn't use it. Do I want to know why you risked it?"

"No."

Her voice became quieter still.

"Should I?"

Gabriel's shoulders were rigid, pain still clear his face, his gaze suddenly avoiding hers. It was no answer, but still Nathalie stepped away, walking up to the dresser, the box she had brought from the Dupain-Cheng bakery, the very same one she had left next to her handbag, being taken into her hands.

"I had no idea what you would prefer," Nathalie announced, making her way back to give the box to Gabriel. The way he went to stare at it once it was on his hands, like he didn't know what to do with it, much less what to say, left her to watch him for a moment before taken a single step towards the armchair, looking over her shoulder. "Don't make me fetch a plate."

"That isn't—"

Their eyes met. It was all it took for Gabriel to understand what she meant. That she was offering him a way out. An escape from her previous question.

"That is unnecessary," he said, quietly, attention dropping to the box. "As was this."

The armchair gave a quiet groan as Nathalie sat.

"Just eat," she asked, the sound of the box being opened making her steal a glance at Gabriel—and sigh. "Please, make an effort."

"An effort," Gabriel replied, reaching inside the box, a tired expression being given to the __vol-au-vent__ before he bit into it. He didn't look hungry. But then again, lately he never was. And if anything today he looked sick. Which meant he was indulging her. And it actually meant a lot to Nathalie that he did.

"Is it good?" she queried, looking the phone she now had on her hands and to Adrien's message, relief at what would be her answer washing over her. "It's—"

The bed groaned. This flash of red and beige jumping out of it leaving Nathalie to snap her head up just as Gabriel got to his full height, the box he had on his hands being turned around as he studied every angle, every corner, every side, searching and muttering and—

"Fresh."

Nathalie dropped the phone just in time to see a feverish blue gleam take over Gabriel's expression.

"This is __fresh__."

She looked, stomach in a knot, just in time to see that __grin__.

"Where __exactly__ did you leave Adrien?"

 **Adrien**

It was the third time Adrien got up already. Three out of three in which he was forced to make a straight line for the Dupain-Cheng's kitchen upon catching this shadow, this thief, this self-entitled cheese rescuer making his way to the glass dome on top of the fridge, a sinister cackling following in his wake, bright green eyes gleaming with greed.

"Come to me, __my beauty,__ " the thief purred, gazing at the cheese that laid within the glass dome and rising up and up in the air, arms wide open. "Come to— _ _AHHHHHHHHHHH!__ "

It probably had been a bit of an overreaction what had just gone down, Adrien would think once he actually managed to go to bed some half an hour later and his mind went over what this must have looked like from Plagg's perspective—terrifying probably being a good description. That, however, would be half an hour from now. Right at this moment, Adrien was souring through the Dupain-Cheng's kitchen, diving, arms outstretched, to land on his stomach, close his hands around Plagg and grin—a combination that, all things considered, made him look too much like an over-sized cat for anyone's comfort.

" _ _Je te tiens__ ," Adrien purred in a low whisper, pulling Plagg closer to his still grinning face. "Shall we discuss stealing?"

Just now struggling to get out of his grasp, Plagg leaned forward, hands over Adrien's thumb.

"I know all about stealing!" he whispered back, sounding so excited to talk about this that Adrien, still lying belly down on the kitchen floor, had to roll his eyes.

"I meant __not__ stealing," he clarified. "We are not—"

" _ _Adrien?"__

A flash of panic went through both his and Plagg's expressions at the sound of that calling. Alarm made Adrien jump so fast to his feet while shoving the kwami behind his back, he almost hit his head on the counter instead of appearing over it, smiling, looking around and—

Adrien tilted his head, his initial confusion at finding the dark living room empty, however, disappeared just a moment later. There, coming down from to the ladder to the attic, the moon's pale light coming from upstairs washing over it, was a figure. A girl. A rather beautiful girl with blueberry blue eyes. A girl, Adrien thought was Ladybug for the moment it took a cloud to cover the moon and for the illusion to shatter, for him to actually look at her.

She was not Ladybug.

This girl wearing a beige and pink pajamas, black hair falling to her shoulders, was—

"Marinette?"

She was staring at him. Staring and looking absolutely bewildered for some reason—and what that reason might be flashed through Adrien's mind the very next moment, leaving him with this very tense half-smile. She had just seen him sky diving into the kitchen, hadn't she?

"I thought I saw a cat," Adrien tried to justify himself, leaving Marinette to blink.

"We don't have a cat," she replied.

 _ _He's not yours,__ Adrien replied mentally just as Plagg went from trying to gross him out by licking his thumb to actually __nibbling__ on Adrien's hand, those small sharp teeth of his actually working just fine in getting Adrien to release him. Not that his newly acquired freedom made Plagg grow some sense and hide. __Oh no.__ Instead this black dart dived back down, towards the kitchen counters and the kwami pressed his back against the wood, greedy eyes still on the cheese.

Adrien wanted to groan. Honestly, did Ladybug have to deal with this too? Were all kwamis like this? Or had he been bestowed a particularly hungry one?

"So, what are doing up?" Adrien now asked Marinette, his kwami-related questions shoved to the back of his mind as he went to lean over the kitchen isle, trying not to glare at Plagg, trying to look normal and smile and behave like himself as he watched Marinette approach the isle, looking slightly anxious. "Did you forget to take something to your room?"

Marinette's smile had a tremulous edge to it when she stopped on the other side of the kitchen isle, the way she was holding a water bottle to her chest almost making it seem like she was trying to hide behind it.

"I come to fetch butter," she explained, eyes bulging the next moment. "I mean gutter! Water!"

Adrien had to smile, reaching out to take the bottle she had on her hands.

"I am on this side, I can fill it."

He looked down just as he turned his back on Marinette, towards the lower side of the counters and Plagg, who was still aiming for the cheese, and glared. His answer? __A dramatic sigh.__ That and— _ _fortunately—__ Plagg growing some sense and darting up to get inside Adrien's pajama shirt, disappearing from view just as Adrien himself made his way to the kitchen sink and filled Marinette's bottle.

"Thanks."

Neither he nor Marinette said much of anything else while they went to the ladder and stopped for a moment, trading a glance. Marinette looked just like she wanted to say something, to ask something, and like she couldn't find enough courage to do any of those things.

"So—" Adrien finally said. "See you tomorrow."

Marinette gave him this timid wave.

"Bye."

She was going up to her bedroom now. It was just Plagg and him in the living room. Plagg, him and the sleeping Nino back on the couch, but sleeping he was really not much help. And so, Adrien turned his back on the ladder, this weight on his heart that had actually been quite forgotten while he was with his friends and was forced to run after Plagg, returning worse than ever before when he took the phone out of his pocket.

Nathalie had not answered his message—not yet, anyway—and he didn't know what to make of her silence. It was almost two in the morning and, after yesterday and taking him to the hospital, maybe she had just fallen asleep, but—

Plagg forced his head through the pajamas' neckline, looking up.

"He is fine," he tried to reassure, watching Adrien hit his father's picture and type a message. The way his fingers hesitated over the send button, never actually touching it, made the kwami look back up. "Your father is fine. Now, let's fetch some cheese!"

Adrien forced a smile. It crossed his mind right then, Plagg might just be behaving like this to distract him. Just like Nathalie had tried to do when she left him here. With his friends. It did cross his mind that might be their reason. And Adrien would be lying if he said thinking that, didn't scare him even more.

"Adrien."

Plagg dived back inside his shirt, leaving Adrien to blink, surprised. The calling had come from behind him. From the ladder leading to the attic. And the very moment Adrien turned he found Marinette was making her way back down, fingers pressing into her water bottle, a note of anxiety to her voice.

"Is—Is something wrong?"

They stood there for a moment. Marinette holding the bottle against her chest and biting her lower lip. Him in front of the ladder, looking up. Both surrounded by darkness. He didn't—Adrien actually didn't know if it was something in her question, he didn't know if it was because it was her, or just because someone had finally asked, but it came tumbling down his lips the same moment, it came completely without his permission—And it came out completely wrong.

"I'm here," he heard himself whisper and that same moment his stomach dropped. __What?!__

"I didn't mean—" Adrien tried to correct himself, attention still on Marinette. "I like being here, I—"

He didn't have to finish. Marinette seemed to understand what he meant. And she was coming back down now, bare feet making close to no sound on the wooden stairway. She hesitated for a moment before sitting on the first step, water bottle placed at her side.

"Mom looked worried when she was talking to Nathalie," she told him. "I thought—I thought something might be wrong. What happened?"

Adrien found himself dropping his attention back to his phone. He wanted to talk to someone __so much__. But from wanting to talk to someone to full-on trusting them was this huge HUGE leap and somehow he found himself jumping right across. Without hesitation. And just like he had trusted Marinette hundreds of times before.

"Remember when I left school today?" Adrien asked and Marinette nodded vigorously, eyes widening when he leaned forward to give her his phone and pointed her attention towards the message in the display. "Father sent me that. That was why I sneaked out."

Marinette was tilting her head now, eyes moving over the words, reading and rereading them, a pensive frown taking over her face.

"He wanted you to go home?" she asked, looking back to him. "Why didn't he call the school?"

"I don't think he meant to send this to me."

"Nathalie?"

Adrien nodded, dropping to sit on the stairs, next to Marinette, right hand closing distractedly over his sprained ankle.

"Yeah. She was back at the house when I got there. She shouldn't have been, Father had given her the day off. I think she got that message too," he said, glancing at the phone Marinette still had in her hands. "It doesn't sound like him, you know? The way that is written. Father doesn't talk like that. And the house where we live right now—He doesn't call it __home__."

Marinette blinked, back to staring at the phone, then at him, the lights of a passing car going by them.

"It's just three words," she pointed out, giving Adrien back his phone.

"I know," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "That is about how much you need with him."

"Really?"

"Nobody can come up with the things Father says," Adrien went on to tell her, leaning back to lie on the stairs, phone held high over his head, a note of fondness to his voice. "Or sends. This one time I got three pages worth of number sequences. Sure it was meant for Nathalie, but I sent it to her, got attached to their conversation and went fifteen minutes staring at my phone and wondering if both of them had gone __insane__. Turns out Nathalie was just out picking up supplies and those were—"

He should have known Marinette would know the answer. She was smiling now. Looking back to where he was lying.

"Thread reel numbers?" she offered and her face flushed red when Adrien found it in himself to smile, it seemed to the cue for her to find refuge in their conversation again. "Maybe he was just being polite?"

Adrien had to shake his head, again pulling his hair off his face.

"This is not Father being polite," he said, the hand he was holding the phone with falling to his side. "If Nathalie gets something like this she won't think he is being polite. She will think something happened, drop everything and come running. Father knows that. It's just how she is. Also—"

Adrien went back to his phone. Rereading Father's message. His own words still peeked from the edition area, unsent. He had lost count of how many times he had read Father's message by now, only this time, something quiet that had been boiling inside him all through the day was rising up his chest and Adrien was up before he noticed, hands behind his back, a harsh note to his voice.

"I know something happened," he snapped, only vaguely aware of Marinette's eyes getting wider and wider as she followed his pacing, looking up at him like she was suddenly seeing someone else. "I know it was something bad. And I don't like not knowing what it was! Or where Father is! Or if he is sick or hurt or doing something __stupid__ because he decided to blame himself for things that are not his fault!"

Adrien had just spoken too loudly. The blade of light peeking from the house's stairways had just been cut by a shadow. There were footsteps coming from the bakery. And that same moment, he and Marinette had jumped off the ladder, running all to way to hide behind the kitchen isle, their heads rising slowly from behind it when the shadow of what was unmistakably Tom Dupain-Cheng was drawn in the stairway and he listened, shrugged and, after a moment, went back to his pastries.

"Sorry about that," Adrien whispered, lowering himself to sit, back against one of the kitchen counters.

Still peeking over the isle, Marinette glanced down at him before going to sit on her typical kneeling position.

"Why didn't you tell us?" she asked in a small voice.

Adrien offered her a sad smile.

"I know what the three of you think of Father," he simply said while looking at the floor, one leg pulled to his chest. "I know what everyone would say. That he is just awful."

"I don't think he is awful."

Adrien turned to Marinette, hope fading into a charming smile that had more of sadness than anything else.

"Right, _"_ he said, and the gentle disbelief to his tone made Marinette's eyes go wide with anxiety.

"I really don't!" she tried to assure him, tone pleading. "Because if he was awful I wouldn't have my hat and Chloe might have it and he might have gotten really mad and walked off and I would be barred from all his fashion shows forever!"

Adrien was staring at her.

"Barred from the—?"

It hit him then.

"You are talking about the contest he did at school?" Adrien asked. "The one for the hat?"

Marinette swallowed hard, fidgeting, clearly trying to find the right words.

"He didn't have to let me prove the hat was mine," she finally managed said, visibly fighting her nerves. "That was not what he wrote in the rules. And he taught me how to make a jacket. And–And he didn't have to keep quiet about the—"

Marinette's eyes widened further, whatever she meant to say, whatever Father had kept quiet about, dying right then and there. She was looking up at Adrien now, desperate.

"He is the reason I want to go to fashion!" she blurted out, eyes begging for Adrien to believe her. "I don't think he is awful! Sure he is kind of scary and cold and not that nice—!"

Adrien dropped his eyes. His heart heavy with sorrow.

"He wasn't like that," he heard himself whisper, going back to stare at the phone's directory, at the single message under Father's name. "He wasn't like this either."

Marinette was leaning towards Adrien now. Waiting. Waiting for him to—

"He was—" Adrien started to say and stopped, fingers closing tighter over the phone. "He was always work, rules and secrets, but he—he also—"

The words seemed to have tied themselves around his throat. They burned. They burned all the way to his eyes and Adrien couldn't continue. He just __couldn't__.

"It shouldn't be that difficult to hit send, should it?" Adrien asked Marinette while staring at his own message. "Sure he is this famous fashion designer, but for me—for me, he is just Father."

 _ _And I miss him,__ the silence between them said, even as the letters of the message were erased one by one.

 _ _I really miss him.__

 **Marinette**

" _ _Marinette!"__ Tikki called from the ceiling trapdoor, her whisper far too loud in the quiet living room. "Marinette, __come back!__ Please! He is going to hear you!"

Halfway across the living room already, having done this complex sneak and drop as she moved between every single piece of furniture standing in her path, Marinette slowly parted the curtains she was presently hiding behind, the yellowish light from the street lamp behind her going to find Tikki near the ceiling at about the same time Marinette herself turned to her and gestured for the kwami to come to her side.

"No!" Tikki objected, the light painting her in this deep red as she went to mimic Marinette's gesture and pointed at the empty place at her side. "You come here!"

A pleading look later and Marinette was forced to drop her head in resignation. Tikki was not coming. Still, her attention moving to the sofa a few meters to her right and from there to the phone lying over its arm, Marinette remained determined. She was going to do this. No doubt about it. She was going to walk to that sofa and take Adrien's phone. She was going in.

A resolute nod was given to herself. The curtains were pushed aside. And so, Marinette stepped out of hiding. A foot, then the other, taking her towards her target, closer and closer—and in what was probably this ridiculous Grinch-like tiptoeing she had no idea why she was using. Never mind it, however! It was working! She was getting there. She was almost at the sofa. This was going great! This was working! She was doing it! She was! And then she stumbled. Of course, she stumbled! And now she was not tiptoeing. No. She was moving through the living room with her head down and arms flapping and a muffled yelp on her lips! She was getting her feet caught in the carpet! She was right on route to crash into this small—!

 _ _No-no-no!__

It was like a disaster was unfolding in slow motion. Only the disaster was herself and Marinette had just rammed into a table. A table that was turning. The magazines on the lower part of it cascading to the carpet. The China lamp that was on top wobbling and swaying and falling and—!

A red bolt flew passed Marinette, hands grabbing the top of the lamp, pulling it up, leaving it floating in the middle of the living room just as a frantic Marinette managed to stop the table from turning and leaned her forehead against the lid.

"Thanks, Tikki."

Tikki sighed, a glance being given to the sofa to her right and the two boys who, by nothing short of a miracle, remained asleep, before she lowered the lamp back to its place and went to hide under the table.

"This is why I'm saying you are going to get __caught,__ " Tikki whispered, watching Marinette stack magazine after magazine on the shelf under her. "Please, Marinette, let's go to sleep!"

Marinette pressed her lips together, eyes finding Tikki's.

"I am not going to bed," she stated, leaning forward to talk through the laced cloth the kwami was hiding behind. "I __can't,__ Tikki. And we are not getting caught, we—"

An irritated mumble made both of them snap their heads to the side, then ran—or in Tikki's case fly—to hide next to the sofa's chaise longue. Their backs hit the white fabric just as the light on the side Nino was sleeping on was turned on and Marinette and Tikki went to press the tip of their fingers to each other's mouth.

"Thought I had heard something—" Nino muttered, his shadow being drawn momentarily on the living room, only for it to yawn and crash back down a moment later. "My mistake."

Marinette pressed the back of her head to the couch, her fingers falling away from Tikki's lips as the living room went dark again. She was testing her luck here. But, it was okay. All was fine. All she had to do now was sneak up to the part of the chaise longue arm where Adrien had put his phone and take it. It was right in front of her right now actually, over the white fabric, next to a book Adrien had been reading for a huge amount of time before going to sleep. All she had to do was stretch her arm, not get herself tangled on the bag Adrien had left open on the floor, not knock anything down and—

Tikki appeared at her side, pulling on her pajamas's sleeve, stopping Marinette just as her fingers touched the phone.

"Marinette, stop!" she begged, managing to pull Marinette's hand down and going to float in front of her face, arms open as if to block her. "Think of how angry Adrien will be when he wakes up and catches you messing with his phone!" she went on to say. "And you were getting along so well just now! You were talking! _"_

Tikki pointed a hand towards Marinette and then to the sofa, to the boy none of them could see, but who was asleep there anyway.

"You, Marinette, talked __with Adrien.__ Don't do this. __Please.__ "

"I'm doing it, Tikki."

" _ _Marinette!__ "

"I know he was talking to me, but he was sad. You saw it," Marinette replied, attention going back to the phone. "And I can do something to change that. So I am doing it."

She pulled Tikki aside with those words, the sight of the kwami covering her mouth, anxious, still clear through the corner of her eyes as Marinette reached for the phone, closed her hand and—Okay, she had it. She had it! And she hadn't caused any major disaster! This was going just fine! And the moment Marinette's eyes fell on the screen, it was not just going fine. It was going great. Marinette's heart fluttered.

"It's unlocked," she whispered, turning back to Tikki with her eyes wide with wonder. "You __are__ lucky."

Tikki gave her a deeply awkward smile and Marinette leaned over the phone, going over the contacts. Her excited smile lost some of its gleam, however, when she raced down to the 'F' and was left staring at an empty directory.

"Adrien has him as _'_ _ _Dad',__ " she commented after a moment of searching a very short contact list. "I thought he called him father— _ _Tikki?"__

Marinette looked around, searching for the kwami, a moment of alarm over her absence giving way to confusion at finding Tikki right overhead, lips pressed and peeking over the chaise longue arm, right at the place where Adrien was asleep.

"What are you searching for?" Marinette queried.

"No one…" Tikki said, giving a last look to the sofa-bed and coming back to peek at the phone on Marinette's hands. "What are you writing?"

Marinette smiled, going back to curl over the phone, fingers running over the display.

"The same thing Adrien was," she said, turning the phone towards Tikki. "Goodnight."

Tikki's gaze softened, her smile the last thing Marinette saw before stretching her arm to put the phone back and Tikki darted to stop her again, a very alarmed pair of blue eyes going to meet Marinette's confused gaze.

"Did you delete your message?!"

Marinette jumped, a panicked look being give to the fortunately still unlocked phone she was bringing back down, fingers leading her back to the messages again.

 _ _Delete! Delete!__

Now, __now__ she put the phone back on the sofa, then looked at Tikki, her nod sending her running to the ladder leading to the ceiling trapdoor and jumping inside her room. It was only once she was there that Marinette stopped, picking up the water bottle she had left on the floor.

"Now he just has to answer and Adrien will be so happy!" Marinette beamed, dreamy, smile fading when she saw the concerned expression Tikki was giving her. "What is it?"

The kwami shook her head, starting to lead the way to the bunk bed where Alya was already sleeping.

"Let's go to sleep."

Marinette caught Tikki between two fingers, pulling her back.

"What is it?" Marinette insisted in a whisper, searching Tikki's eyes, trying to find her answer there. "You are worried. You know you can tell me."

Tikki pressed her lips.

"It's nothing, it's—" She sighed, glancing down the trapdoor, back to the living room. "What if Adrien's father doesn't answer?"

 _ _Oh—__ Marinette had to sigh in relief. She thought it would be something bad. Like she had forgotten something downstairs. Not–Not that Gabriel Agreste not answering wasn't bad! But—

Marinette smiled, gently.

"Adrien won't know."

"But you will, Marinette," Tikki replied, wisely, attention back on her. "And you already thought Gabriel Agreste was Hawkmoth. What if he doesn't answer?"

They would never know what would have happened. What she would have thought. A buzz. The ping of a message. Nino's drowsy _"_ _ _Dude, the phone"__ had broken through the silence. And they were lying belly down on the floor the same moment. Tikki going to hover head down. Marinette holding her hair with one hand and sticking her head through the trapdoor. Both peeking into the living room still in time to see Adrien feel around for his phone, then sit when he didn't find it, a sigh and an eye roll breaking through his visible tiredness at finding the phone on the opposite side of where he had left it.

"Really?"

Marinette bit her lower lip, watching as Adrien let himself fall back into bed—and jumped back up so suddenly it looked like he had hit a large spring on his way down. He was staring at his phone's display now. Eyes wide. Then squinting in suspicion, fingers moving over the display.

A second ping later and Nino too was sitting, rubbing his eyes.

"Seriously, dude, __who__ is texting you in the middle of the night?" he asked, fishing his glasses from the support table at his side. "Is it the girls? Are they awake?"

He was peeking at Adrien's phone now, confusion replacing his curious query.

"Who answers 'See you tomorrow' with 'Go to sleep'?" Nino asked, mouth slightly agape. "Also... I'm going if you are? Who—?"

Another ping.

"This is not up for discussion," Nino read, starting to back away as if the phone could explode. "Ah, dude… Is that your—?"

A new ping. And this time, Adrien rose his phone, showing the display to Nino.

"Go to sleep. And I mean __both of you__ ," Nino read, eyes doubling in size. "Y-Yes, Sir!"

And he dived back down, leaving Adrien smiling at his phone.

"That was scary, dude," Nino shuddered from under the sheets, light being turned back off. "Why are you so happy?"

"It was definitely Father."

A smile took over Marinette's expression, the next moment, she was up, hugging her water bottle.

"He is happy, Tikki!"

And she ran up to the ladder, beaming, squealing, swirling, almost falling, before disappearing into bed, in her happiness blind to the fact Tikki had fallen behind and to the grinning black kwami that had just shoved his head through the trapdoor, peeking inside her bedroom, a very generous slice of very stolen cheese on his hands.

"That's some lively holder you have there, Sugar Cube!" Plagg whispered happily while looking at the bunk-bed, a glance Tikki's way making him give her this overly exaggerated sigh. "What did I do now?"

Stealing a glance at her holder's bed, Tikki pressed her lips.

"You know what you did," she whispered turning back to Plagg, foot tapping on a non-existent floor. "You unlocked that phone!"

"Oh, give your girl a break!" Plagg said, unconcerned. "If she hadn't sent that message, I would!"

"We are not supposed to interfere like __that!__ "

Plagg threw his head back for a silent cackle.

" _ _Pfft!__ Who cares for that boring rule?" he threw at Tikki, his grin showing two rows of small sharp teeth. "Not your Ladybug! And not you last time I checked!"

Tikki turned redder still.

"I care about rules," she replied, only to tilt her head. "And you care about him, don't you?"

Plagg looked up from the trapdoor, nibbling on the cheese.

"Him?"

"Chat Noir," Tikki clarified, expression becoming softer. "You said you wouldn't make the mistake of growing attached to a holder ever again after—"

Something shivered on Plagg's expression, the cheese being shoved whole into his mouth making Tikki drop down the trapdoor to stand at his side, comforting.

"Plagg—"

"I have no idea what you are talking about," he said, sucking on each of his fingers, a greedy look being given to the kitchen behind her. "And now for the __pièce de resistance__. __Époisses de Bourgogne__ on top of the fridge."

Tikki rolled her eyes, seeing Plagg sneak towards his target, her last glimpse of the living room before closing the trapdoor, however, was not of him but of Adrien going passed the ladder on all fours.

"Plagg, for the love of—!" he whispered. "Drop the cheese, __right now__. This is not our room!"

Tikki had to smile. **Our** room, was it?

 _ _He likes you too__ , __Plagg,__ she told him even if just in her heart, and then she went up to Marinette's bed, making her way to her holder and Alya, pulling the bed sheets over both their shoulders and watching a drowsy smile come to meet her when Marinette's eyes opened for a moment… and then closed again.

"Goodnight, Tikki."

"Goodnight, Marinette," Tikki whispered, caressing her forehead, this muffled commotion on the lower floor making her sigh. "Goodnight, Plagg."

Tikki had just entered the doll house on the other side of the bedroom, when she remembered to look back, towards the pale moonlight making its way inside the room, towards the night and the sleepy city nestled under it.

"See you around," she whispered, unbeknownst of the dark figure standing silently just across the street. "Nooroo."

 **Sabine Dupain-Cheng**

The day's finances were spread over one of the bakery's small tables, receipts and supplier's invoices already waiting in neatly piles as Sabine went over the account table shown on her computer one last time, the quiet song that was slowly dancing its way to her making her frown.

"You are singing, dear," Sabine warned, not losing her focus, fingers now flying over the keyboard. "You will wake up the kids."

The muffled hum turned into a lullaby, its playful tone making Sabine press her fingers to her lips, trying to suppress a chuckle, and then look towards the blade of light coming from the kitchen, to the large shadow drawn on the floor.

"Tom—" she reprimanded with no real bite to her words, a fond smile on her lips. "I am going in there."

This time she laughed when the lullaby rose in volume. Uncrossing her legs, one of her feet hitting the extension cord, Sabine threw her hand backwards, catching the lamp just as it hit the blinds and something just outside made her turn.

There was a man going down the street. A tall, elegant man all dressed in black. His face, lit in turn by the streets many lamps, one Sabine had known from her daughter's fashion magazines, long before she had meet him or dreamed she would one day have his son sleeping on her living room couch.

"M. Agreste, Adrien is—"

It dawned on Sabine just as a quiet knock lead her to unlock the bakery's door—the hanging bell overhead tolling, the cold night breeze forcing its way inside—just how weird it was that Gabriel Agreste of all people was at her doorstep, in the middle of the night, his car nowhere to be seen, when his assistant had told her that he was bedridden. It dawned on her, but it was too late already and there was no training, no experience, nothing in Sabine's martial arts knowledge that could have stopped the thing wearing Gabriel Agreste's face or the sketchbook he swept her inside.

 _"_ _ _Mom?"__

"Mom, is that you?" a drowsy whisper called out.

Sabine blinked. The voice breaking inside her mind, calling her back, left her standing on her daughter's bedroom for a moment, staring in confusion as her hand, now a charcoal drawing, carefully, silently, and of its own volition, closed one of the drawers under Marinette's bunk bed.

"Mom, is something wrong?"

Sabine looked back, to find her daughter climbing down the bunk bed's ladder, rubbing her eyes, drowsiness being replaced by alarm the instant their eyes meet.

" _ _ **Mom?!**__ "

The thing that had been Marinette's mother stepped forward, determined, mindless, Sabine herself lost inside of it… and yet, that moment of terror before her mind was pulled under and she knew no more, that moment of seeing herself step towards Marinette not knowing what she was about to do, __that moment__ , Sabine would remember it __forever__.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

And so the Collector steps back into the battlefield - with some updates.

And here we are again :) This part actually took a lot longer to be finished than I expected considering it was mostly down when I published part 2. Next part is still being written so I will ask a little patience while you wait for it! Regardless, I will see you all there!

(And as always comments are much appreciated!)

 **A big thank you too:**

 **Guest,** thank you so much! I have to give kudos for reading it all in one go :) I know how huge this bad boy is!

 **Reminiscent Lullaby** :) Thank you for your ongoing support! And here is the new chapter as promised! (I have to admit Nooroo's POV sneaked up on me last time!)

 **Ellie** , welcome back! Thank you so much for the new comment. About Marinette and the Greek Mythology, prepare yourself for it is worse than you think... I am from Europe too! Only not from a country where Greek monsters are common knowledge and that lead me to an utterly silly conclusion. Fortunately, it is something easy to correct by making Marinette read on it. (Tell me about trying to pull myself out of that hole! lool). Anyway :) I am so glad you like the story, hope to keep seeing you around!

 ** **In notes not related to this story:**** If anyone out there is a fan of Gray Matter (game by Jane Jensen) I published something for it. If you are still here but don't know that story, like Gabriel-type characters (even without powers and the attacking a city bit), a slowly build romance and mystery, I would recommend watching or playing the game. I can't promise you will like it, of course, but it is a very good story. (Also, I may low-key be hoping someone falls in love with it and writes something, because I can't find any fanfics!)


	7. The Painted Lady - Part 4

**The Painted Lady**

(part 4)

 **Gabriel**

Mrs. Elaine Beckwitt surveyed the tray she had been preparing, her attention rummaging over bread and butter, cheese and ham, before what in any other day would have looked to her like a very poor excuse for breakfast, gained a smile and she closed her hands over the tray. Happy, the fearful rattling of the china cups she had put to the side of the teapot not fazing her in the slightest, she left the brightly illuminated kitchen and started to go down her home's corridor.

Her slow pace took her passed walls filled with family photographs, windows and a mirror, before Mrs. Beckwitt reached the end of the corridor, turned, and found that the door she had been aiming for had been left open, just like she had asked her husband to do. Stepping inside, however, to find him standing next to the window and staring nervously out into the street, she had but to look around to notice he hadn't done much of anything else.

The office was chaotic. History books and dictionaries were open over every surface available—and even over some that were certainly _not_ available. There were notebooks on the floor, pages covered in Tibetan Script hanged from the bookshelves, some book or another holding them in place, and on the center of it all, on this white writing board that would have been the only thing in the middle of this disaster that was as it should — but that instead stood right to the middle of her path — there were photographs of some ancient document, one whose text seemed to be surrounded by drawings, just like the words were little but a part of a much larger page, just like someone hadn't thought them important enough to share.

Her attention not for the first time having been captured by the hand downing a red and black polka dotted glove on one of the pages, by this very beautiful tail of what seemed to be a blue jewel — one that looked a little bit like it could belong to a peacock — Mrs. Beckwitt shook her head at herself. The heavy tray in her hands was the only thing she should be worrying about right now, not her husband's present escapade from retirement.

"Dear—" she sighed, lips turning into a thin line when he remained where he was. _"Samuel."_

Samuel Beckwitt didn't react, not to the groan that over the last fifty years of marriage had announced his wife was seconds away from tidying up his office, his attention instead remaining as firmly outside as it had been all through the morning.

The street, he couldn't help but notice, was dreadfully empty. The rain that hammered incessantly against the tall window of his office, that fell in curtains over the elegant row of brick houses of the posh London neighborhood where he lived, having emptied the streets so thoroughly that now that his young neighbors had loaded their sons into the car and disappeared down the street, the world seemed deserted, abandoned, there was not a sparrow, a pigeon, a cat, nothing to break the monotonous undulation of the trees and shrubs under the continuous downpour. _Nothing._

But then, finally, he saw movement.

A black cab had just appeared to the end of the road, and rather than ignore the street all together and keep on its way, it turned and started to make its way down the road, its march so slow it was obvious the driver was surveying the houses around him, looking for his client's destination.

Nervously adjusting his tie, Beckwitt watched the cab as it slowly approached his home, praying it would ignore it all together and move pass. His luck being what it usually was, however — and he should know it by now, he had had seventy years of it — it unsurprisingly stopped, tires sinking into the water streaming down to a nearby gutter, the bright red of its rear lights painting the damp road and sidewalk red.

They would be getting out any time now, Beckwitt told himself. This young couple who had hired him.

She glamorous and funny, a beautiful and absolutely charming woman.

He quiet, far too much so. Polite, but not a particularly pleasant man.

They would be getting out of the cab. They would be stepping up the stairs. They would enter this very office—

Beckwitt swallowed, he waited. Around him, the minutes ticked by without anyone stepping out of the car, without a living soul appearing on the street. It might have taken him a little longer than necessary to get what was a very clear message and to walk away from the window, move blindly passed the breakfast table his wife had prepared, passed her as she tidied up his desk, and step out of the office, the report he had been holding on to firmly on his hand.

Walking down the corridor as if in a dream — or more probably a nightmare — Beckwitt put on a coat, picked up the umbrella that was against the wall near the front door, opened said door and umbrella, and, leaving behind the water falling from the house's roof and the very corroded, very neglected plaque that read "Tibetan Linguistic Society" went down the small flight of stairs to the front garden. It took him only a few seconds to walk from there, across the sidewalk and to the black cab, and that wasn't nearly enough time to brace himself for what was to come. Not even considering he had been bracing himself all through the night.

Still, stopping near the cab, a deep steadying breath being taken, Beckwitt looked at the bounded copy of the thin linguistic report he had on his hand, put it between the arm with which he was holding his umbrella and his jacket, leaned forward and knocked on the backseat window.

The sound must have exploded inside the car like a clap of thunder for the man who sat inside, staring at his phone, jumped and immediately turned towards the street. Standing outside, the water hitting the car having blurred the lines of the sharp angular face that looked back at him, Beckwitt could nevertheless see a line of thin lips curl in distaste and the steel like gleam to the pair of grayish-blue orbs as they turned to the driver.

"Is it unlocked?" a deep muffled voice demanded to know.

"Sir."

The window went down, small rivers of water joining the ones already streaming down the car's door and to the ground as it did so. Not losing a moment Beckwitt's eyes darted inside the cab, searching, _searching_ , it took him a few moments to acknowledge the elegantly dressed man in front of him.

"Mr. Agreste," Beckwitt saluted, nervously and in English, his eyes moving away from the car to run up and down the tree flanked street in search of someone else, desperately hoping to find a friendlier face, a warmer demeanor. "Your wife isn't with you today?"

Gabriel Agreste's large hand pressed around the cellphone he still held, the tip of his gloved fingers sinking into the display with such strength colorful ripples started to go through the image.

"No," he stated, whatever emotion had been behind his grip on the phone absent from his expression as he put the phone over this black binder that was resting on the seat to his side. "Let's keep this short."

The report was delivered through the open cab window. Watching Gabriel opening it over his legs, seeing both the plastic cover and the index left behind, Beckwitt could but swallow. If Emilie Agreste was here things would be different—but she _wasn't_ and in her absence her husband flicked through the report at speed, attention rapidly running over the images, the words, stopping here and there when something caught his attention and left him frowning. Overall, however, he seemed about as interested in the contents of the report as on the droplets of water diving inside the car, dotting both the pages and the beige overcoat he had on. In the end, it went as expected: Gabriel Agreste snapped the report shut, dropped it over his legs, his eyes — the very same eyes Beckwitt was now forced to face through the rain cascading down the black canvas of his umbrella — burning blue.

"You have nothing," he hissed.

Beckwith could feel himself grow smaller under the glare.

"These things take time," he tried to say. It would have been better if he had not said it at all.

"I have given you _months_ ," Gabriel snapped, the flowing accent to his voice, that nasal sound to the words that made his nationality obvious enough without him having to share it, becoming deeper and deeper as the pretense of indifference, of cold detachment, turned his anger into a businessman's glacier professionalism. "And the only thing you can tell me is what it is _not_."

"I have tried to translate that form of Tibetan Script," Beckwitt tried to reason, the wind whistling as it cut through the street, filling it with the sounds of clapping branches and forcing him to hold on to his wobbling umbrella. "I have gone over every single language it is usually used for, I have tried Mandarin just like Mrs. Agreste suggested. If it is an entirely unknown language there is nothing I can do."

Silence. A silence in all ways worse than whatever he might have been told filled the space. Sat inside the cab, Gabriel seemed to have just forgotten how to breath, he seemed to be reminding himself how to. When he spoke, however, the unthinkable seemed to have happened: his already distant demeanor had grown colder still.

"Then, it is unfortunate that our association must be terminated," Gabriel hissed, fingers aiming to press the window's controls. Outside, knowing not what had just gotten into him, Beckwitt rushed forward, one hand trying to stop the ascending glass.

"It is my opinion it might be written in code!" he informed. "If you would allow me a team! Even just a cryptographer!"

A short ring cut through Beckwith's words, it silenced whatever glacier answer he was about to be offered, and in so doing it left him standing in the rain, vaguely aware of his wife peeking outside through the office's window, it left him to witness the way Gabriel's grayish-blue eyes darted away from him and towards the shivering phone at his side, the hopeful way his lips mouthed _"Emilie,"_ the relief, the concern, something that spoke perhaps too much of adoration. And for all the signs Beckwitt had failed to notice before, this time he saw _him_. The man under the mask. A man who was running his fingers down a phone's display, who was unlocking it, who was hitting the message he had received with a hopeful gaze—Who went to stare at the words just like his world was falling apart.

"Mr. Agreste?" Beckwitt called out. And for the first time, for the very first time, the anxiety he always faced his client with was absent. He just leaned towards the cab's open window, right hand closing over the open window, concerned. "Is something wrong?"

The question traveled through the steady streams of water cascading down Beckwitt's umbrella, it moved passed the curtain of rain between him and the car, it entered through the window unimpeded, and in its quiet honesty, in its sincere concern, it hit Gabriel like a punch. He was left shivering, his hands trembling as he reached for the black binder on the seat at his side, as he opened it, as he pulled his work drafts apart and grabbed the train ticket he had stored there.

"Is there something I—" Beckwitt's voice spoke from the street and through the corner of his eyes, Gabriel could see he was looking back towards the house, back at his wife who was now at the door, before coming back to him. " _We_ can do?"

The pressure around his throat tightening like an hangman's noose, Gabriel could barely breathe to talk, he could barely _think_ to know what to say.

"Get whatever you need," he ended up barking and that might have been English, it might have been French, it might be any other language he was comfortable with and it truly didn't matter to him for the window was going up and he was turning to the driver, fingers painfully pressed around the cellphone, the words ***It happened again*** burning from the display. "St. Pancras station."

The house was silent when Gabriel arrived back at the Loire Valley, the same sunlight that descended over the small chateau he called home, warming its red stone walls and glinting through the open windows, his only companion as Gabriel pushed the front door open and made his way inside.

The atrium opened in front of him, welcoming him much in the same way it had always done since his family had moved away from Paris some seven years ago. Closing the door behind him, however, eyes running over the winding stairway in front of him, Gabriel wasn't seeing anything of his surroundings. The pair of green sofas that were position in a an L, embraced by the walls the wooden stairway climbed up of; the large glass table lying on top of the red carpet; the books on the shelves behind the sofas — even that single one that laid there on top of a pillow, its juvenile cover making it clear Adrien had been here just a few minutes ago — all of that might as well have not existed at all for, shoes hammering on the wooden steps, Gabriel was rushing up the stairs, he was moving by the door to Adrien's bedroom, by the large stairway window, by the door to a guest room circumstances had forced Nathalie to occupy, and then, _then_ he was aiming for the top floor, climbing up the last flight of stairs until he was standing on the upmost landing, until he could ignore the path to the left, the one leading to his own bedroom, and ran down the well-illuminated corridor to the right, the one that lead to Emilie's.

It wasn't until he was standing in front of her door, his knocking going unanswered that Gabriel forced himself to stop, to breath, _to think_ , to tell himself that if what he dreaded had happened he would already know, and to, forcing himself to at the very least _look_ composed, push the door open.

A cold breeze rushed from inside the room, moving passed him with the same impetus with which it whipped the transparent curtains covering the terrace shutters. Immediately letting the door click behind him, Gabriel found himself standing in the dark, the fading columns of light tentatively making their way inside struggling as much as him to reach the woman asleep on the bed, a woman who laid with her body curled around the book at her side, right hand over the drawing of a pair of spotted hearings just like she had fallen asleep looking at them.

As relieved as Gabriel felt at seeing her, however, that sense of peace was as short-lived as he knew it would be. Lately, even the smallest change in her breathing was enough to put his nerves on edge, the slightest shift to the rhythm in which her chest rose sufficient for his heart to feel like it had stopped, for him to stop breathing, to have to make sure she was fine—just like he was doing now, just like he was doing as he stopped next to the bed, as he leaned forward and combed Emilie's blond hair behind her ear.

She was fine.

She was still here.

And Gabriel had absolutely no idea how many times he had to say that to himself before he felt capable to reach out for the grimoire at her side, to see her hand slid over it and fall to the bedsheets, to risk losing Emilie from sight again and to walk away from the bed, away from the long bench at the end of it and across the room, towards the dressing table and the many many pictures Emilie kept there, towards these pictures Gabriel knew by heart and that showed Emilie standing in several red carpet events, Emilie in her wedding dress sitting in front of a blue lagoon, Emilie holding a baby in her arms, Emilie and her sister laughing along with their sons, Emilie resting her head against Adrien and looking at him—she always looked at him.

Tension slowly leaving his shoulders, Gabriel reached out for that last picture, the soft smile that found its way to his face as he looked at the happy duo was, however, met with an abrupt end when, having locked the grimoire inside the lowest of the dressing table's drawers, he stepped back, still looking at the picture, and felt a hard patch under his feet.

The softness to his gaze, faded. The timid ray of sunlight that had just reached through the darkness, braving its way passed the curtains and to the place where Gabriel stood, taking his attention to the carpet.

Something blue was shining from between the white fibers near his left foot. Something—

Gabriel's face lost all color. A glance behind him, towards the darkness hiding the bed, to where Emilie laid deep asleep, curled under the sheets, and he dropped the frame back on the dressing table, terror that he knew what laid on the floor and what that meant, hope that against all odds he was wrong, battling in his heart, on his mind, until Gabriel leaned forward, combed the long fibers of the carpet away and he saw it, right there in front of him.

A blue jewel.

A brooch in the shape of a peacock.

The very thing he knew he would find.

The very same thing he had desperately hoped he wouldn't.

Gabriel closed his eyes, the shivering breath coming from the bed pulling his attention back there. Through the darkness, the same one that had turned the bedroom and all in it into different tones of gray, he could see Emilie turn on the bed, pulling the bedsheets closer to her, he could hear a small gasp, mumbling, he could tell she was—

 _Asleep._

She was _asleep._

She was fine.

And he had to stop looking at her, he had to pick the Miraculous right now, to lock the thing up before someone stumbled on it, before Adrien stumbled on it.

If only that thought could stop his fingers from recoiling just short of touching the peacock-shaped stone, if only it could stop them from trying to avoid it like they would a living flame—But it couldn't. Gabriel's fingers did recoil. They hesitated just inches above the carpet's white fibers and the Miraculous that rested there. And yet, despite his fear when Gabriel finally touched the brooch he did so without the creature that dwelt within waking up, without it darting into existence, large magenta eyes ablaze with happiness, words an excited squeal.

"You are better already!"

Gabriel's fingers closed around the Miraculous, plucking it from the carpet. The memory of Duusuu's words, of the kwami flying around in this very room, making him crush the brooch with enough strength his knuckles turned white, that he could feel the round borders sink into his skin, that he was sure he could at least bend the bloody thing—and yet, when he opened his hand, to see the blue peacock laying against his palm, the Miraculous remained unblemished.

Unlike everything he held dear.

Unlike his family.

Unlike Emilie.

Gabriel closed his eyes. The mirror in front of him would have showed him the lines of distress on his expression if he had cared to look at it, if he wasn't already opening the dressing table's top drawer, meaning to lock the Peacock Miraculous where Emilie usually hid it, right in the middle of her jewel collection and step outside, to forget all of this even if just for a moment. As things were, however, rather than do any of that, Gabriel found himself face to face with row after row of necklaces and brooches and earrings, eyes locked not with any of those, but with this purple stone that rested on a small black pillow on the corner, with the second Miraculous, the Butterfly one.

Loathing went through him like a roaring flame. In a flash, Gabriel had ripped the Miraculous out of the pillow where it rested, he had closed the drawer, he was marching across the room, aiming for the bedroom door and he would have left, he would be gone, if it was not for the soft moan rising from behind him, for the rustling of bedsheets, for his name being called in a woman's voice.

"Gabriel?"

Having just reached for the door handle, Gabriel's fingers closed tight over it, he swallowed, gathering himself before he turned towards the bed and the woman still lying there, this woman who was his life.

"I thought you were in London," she whispered.

"I was."

Through the darkness, Gabriel watched Emilie reach for the lamp on the single bedside table that was to her left and turn it on. The light washed over the bed, over her in her white nightgown, over the dressing table to the end of the room and all the rest of the modern looking black and white furniture of the room. It washed over everything before it reached Gabriel, leaving Emilie sitting in her bed, golden hair cascading down her shoulders, and blinking at him.

"What are you doing—?"

Bright green eyes became suddenly alert, sitting straight, it took Emilie a moment to let herself fall back into the bed. Whatever she meant to do, however, be it to sink dramatically into the pillows — and knowing her it was probably that — or to lean over one of them, she failed so completely in her intent she sank right through the gap between the pillows behind her, her upper body getting instantly swallowed and disappearing from view.

"Nathalie," Emilie nevertheless managed to say, unfazed by her present predicament, voice muffled by the pillows laying on top of her. "One day, I will get the hand of having her do what I say."

Stepping back into the room, Gabriel hid the two Miraculous he still held inside his trouser's pocket.

"You certainly got the hang of it with the rest of us," he teased, smiling when one of Emilie's arms immediately rose over the bed and her fingers opened and closed to mouth the good-humored "Ah-ah" crossing her lips.

"How are you?" Gabriel now asked.

There was a sigh. Forcing herself back to sit, waiting for Gabriel to straighten the pillows behind her back, Emilie shrugged.

"Tired," she simply stated.

Gabriel's fingers twitched over the pillow he was holding. Looking at Emilie as she leaned back, seeing the paleness to her face, the way her skin seemed to spread thin over her, he would have felt more at peace if she had continued, if she had done like she always had and gone into what Gabriel could only describe as far too much detail—if she had said anything other than what she followed that one word with.

"How was your trip?" she asked, patting the place on the bed at her side, her fingers reached out for Gabriel's face, pulling him down the very moment he sat there.

"It didn't go as planned," Gabriel whispered, once their lips parted.

Her eyes closed, Emilie kissed him again.

"How so?"

"Beckwitt suggested the grimoire might be encrypted."

Emilie pulled away, her fingers slipping from Gabriel's face as quickly as they had reached out for him. Watching her eyebrows draw in, her large green orbs studying him, Gabriel could only watch as she slipped out of the bed, moving away from him, going to open the curtains and the shutters that lead to the bedroom balcony.

"A code?" Emilie repeated as she turned her back on the garden beyond the window and picked the silk robe that was on the long bench to the end of the bed, sliding her arms through the sleeves. "He told you it was a _code?"_

Watching her make her way to her dressing table, sitting on the stool and picking up a comb, Gabriel went back to his feet.

"If he is right—" he started to say and fell silent, the hopeful gleam to his eyes turning apologetic as he tried and failed to meet Emilie's gaze through her reflection on the dresser's mirror. "I know you wished for me to end our association with—"

Emilie's eyebrows arched, in a moment she had turned her back to the mirror, to her pictures, and went back to face him, the elegant lines of her body drawn by the sun, beige nightgown wrapping around her figure, robe stretching to the floor.

"End?" she repeated, and immediately shook her head, voice turning into a caress. "No, no, no."

A small smile curled on Emilie's lips, green eyes sinking deep into Gabriel's, she let her hands rest on her lap.

"I only said that because I care about you," she said, fingers pressing around the comb she still held on her hands, one nail moving back and forth, scrapping at it. "I want this book translated as much as you do, I want _our_ life back, but, _Gabriel_... People—I always see everyone take advantage of you, deceiving you. I would hate for that to happen again because of—"

The comb slipped from Emilie's fingers that same moment, falling to the carpet just as her fingers grabbed hold of her nightgown's long skirt. Still standing by the bed, watching a shiver go down her body, knowing far too well what it meant, Gabriel ran to her, closed his arms around Emilie and carried her back to bed before the coughing started, before all strength left her, before he was left holding a failing body, fearing it would be the last time he would do so.

"I trust you, dear," Emilie spoke once the coughing subsided, fingers running beneath Gabriel's chin, guiding him down, close enough to her that Gabriel could feel the warm air leaving her lips on his skin. "You will do what is right for us."

Gabriel closed his eyes, expecting Emilie to close what little distance remained between them, expecting their lips to met—but Emilie leaned over his shoulder instead, lips short of caressing his ear.

 _"We will always be together,"_ she whispered, and she slipped from Gabriel's embrace, she got up and strode towards the bathroom, the door closing behind her.

Left behind, Gabriel waited. He waited for the silence to crumble like a house of cards, for that pained gasp at air, at life, to break through the silence again, he waited to run back to hold Emilie. He waited. And although it never came, the sound hounded him all the same, it hounded until it was all that he could hear, until his own footsteps on the stairway leading into the living room downstairs were but a side note to his mind, until it felt there was nothing else to the world, until—

Gabriel stopped, his breathing as labored as if he had been running, to find himself outside, in the back garden. Confused, he looked around. He didn't remember getting here, he didn't remember opening the backdoor or stepping into the terrace, but somehow he had walked passed the pool and gone down the ancient stone stairways, he had moved passed the flowerbeds left empty by the winter and the timid green crowning the trees already hopeful for spring, he had gone all the way down to the large reservoir on the lowest part of the estate and stood right in front of the re-purposed greenhouse that was his atelier, feet sank on the gravel, wind playing with loose locks of hair, shivers running down his spine.

"What is right for us," Gabriel heard himself whisper and looked back at the red walls of the chateau on the highest part of the garden, at the open windows to Emilie's bedroom, at Emilie herself as she stepped into her balcony. "What is right for us."

The black binder he didn't remember bringing with him was tossed to the stone bench under the atelier's open window, the rather careless gesture making it spill open just as cold wind broke through the estate. Paper sheets took flight right at that moment, the sketches and designs they held being pushed down the path where Gabriel stood and over the reservoir's stone borders, where they dived down the meter or so that separated the path from the water.

Watching them disappear, Gabriel busied himself with the beige scarf he was wearing.

He didn't care, he told himself. _He didn't care._

And, his gray waistcoat joining the glasses and scarf he had just tossed over the stone bench, his shoes left behind, Gabriel walked passed his scattering work and to the _reservoir's_ stone border, where he stood looking over into the faraway distance, to where the glassy black surface of the water gave way to white foam— _and dived._

It felt like a thousand knives had just sunk into his skin, the frigid water swallowed him, closed overhead, left him to glide through darkness until his lungs were shouting for air, until it was either sinking into oblivion forever or pulling himself back to the surface, back to the light, back to feel the cold wind on his face.

Gabriel found himself shivering once he finally reached the other margin some minutes later. His movements hindered by the temperature, breathing coming in short gasps, he had to force himself to give one last stroke passed the water lilies and the bulrushes that grew near the reservoir's wall and grab hold of the stone barrier leading to the small incline he had been aiming for. Forcing his half-paralyzed muscles to hoist him up there was another struggle all together, but in the end, Gabriel found himself sitting on the safety wall that kept the reservoir from overflowing, watching the cold water run passed him, streaming down the long slope to join the river that hid passed the naked trees in front of him.

It took Gabriel a long moment to get enough feeling back on his hands to take the Miraculous from his pocket and let them rest on the palm of his hand, under the fading sun. Looking at them, then below, at the river he could hear running passed the trees and vegetation, Gabriel had to wonder if the creatures inside the Miraculous knew what he was about to do, if they were afraid.

Rising to his full height, cold water running passed his feet, the memory of Emilie shivering in his arms far too present, Gabriel hoped so.

 _He hoped so._

It was only fair that they—

 **_"Father!"_ **

Gabriel froze on the spot, alarm filling his mind so completely he had no time to make sense of that calling, of that name, of who was running towards him before he shoved the Miraculous back inside his pocket and looked up at the path running by the reservoir's higher wall, to seeAdrien burst through the branches of a large willow.

"You really are—!"

 _Here_ , became as lost to the wind as Gabriel's surprised _"Adrien."_ As bad as his vision was without his glasses, however, Gabriel could make out the frown that had put an end to his son's excited exclamation, he could see him through the unfocused blur as he came to a stop amid loose gravel and small clouds of dirt, the same cold wind that sent ripples through the water messing his blond hair as he stared down from the path to the place where Gabriel stood, the smile that had been on his face turning to perplexity when Adrien took in not only Gabriel's present location, but his soaked clothes.

"Did you fall into _reservoir?"_ Adrien blurted out.

Looking up at him, fingers making sure the Miraculous really were inside his pocket, Gabriel rolled his eyes. His voice was hoarse from the cold when he spoke.

"I didn't fall in, son."

"You sure look like you did," Adrien replied, his voice way too loud for someone whose position was actually just a meter or so over the place where Gabriel stood. "Are you alright?"

Frigid water running passed his feet, Gabriel had to sigh, his already quiet _"I'm fine"_ getting quieter still when Adrien frowned at him and went to look at the reservoir's other margin, eyebrows knitted.

"Did you swim here?"

Gabriel's nose twisted, he crossed his arms.

"I fell in the reservoir."

"You are always telling me not to go in there," Adrien continued, still surveying the waters, eyes ablaze with curiosity.

"It is _not_ changing now."

The stern tone to the words was all it took for Adrien to look back at him, and for his attention to drop all the way down to the porous rock Gabriel was standing on, to the steady flow of water running passed his bare feet.

"You are always telling me not to stand _there_ either," he pointed out, making this sweeping movement towards the trees outside the estate and the river they hid. "Unless I want to be swept away to the ocean and have you fish me out. Do you need help getting out of there?"

Gabriel didn't need help. Regardless of that, he found himself reaching out for the hand Adrien had just offered him, he let him help him to the path. The present reality considered, however, it was not at all clear if he should have.

"Cold! Cold! _**Cold!** "_ Adrien exclaimed as soon as Gabriel was standing at his side, his words joined by him shaking his hands, rubbing them against his jeans and each other. Regardless of the spectacle that now made Adrien walk from Gabriel to the willow tree and from there back to Gabriel like that could warm his hands, he still looked up at Gabriel, expression bright.

"Nathalie told me you were swamped!" he said, now blowing into his hands. "That you had to go to London and all. Did you manage to finish early? Is that why you are here? They don't need you anymore and you get to come home?"

Gabriel had no chance to answer. He had no time to think of an answer. Adrien's smile had just soured, collapsed. He was no longer pacing, instead, he was standing on the old stone path, hands falling to his side, a sudden clarity filling his face with worry, making him drop his voice.

"It's because of Mom, isn't it?" he said, searching Gabriel's eyes. "Nathalie told you. About this morning."

A splash, the sound of a fish or toad diving into the water broke through Gabriel's quiet _"Yes"_. Looking across the reservoir, towards the chateau and the balcony where his mother now sat at, looking at the garden, Adrien ended up dropping his eyes to the path where both of them stood and the willow to their side. A few moments went by, seconds where he moved a small stone back and forth with the tip of his shoe and that finally lead him to sit _not_ on the wall over the incline leading out of the estate, but on the reservoir's border, feet hanging over the water lilies, attention wandering back to Gabriel.

"Nathalie told me to let Mom rest this morning," Adrien said while Gabriel followed behind him. "I sneaked into Mom's bedroom either way. I just wanted to ask her what was wrong."

Stopping, looking down at him, Gabriel found his voice quiet when he spoke.

"What did she tell you?"

Hands pressing against the wall where he sat, Adrien dangled his legs over the water.

"Mom said there isn't anything to worry about," he told him and then he smiled, brightly, hopefully. "That there isn't anything you can't fix!"

Gabriel's eyes flew away from the green ones now looking at him. Out in the distance, Emilie had just risen from her chair, she was stepping back inside her bedroom, closing the shutters behind her, the light of her room being turned off.

"Dad?" Adrien's voice called out to him and Gabriel looked down to find him studying his face. Fourteen Adrien might be, but he right now looked worried, he sounded _suspicious_. "Is Mom lying?"

Gabriel's heart seemed to very slowly stop, stealing a last glance at Emilie's window, he step closer to the reservoir border and dropped to sit at Adrien's side, his legs, just like his son's, hanging over the water lilies.

"Would your mother lie?" he asked.

Adrien's eyebrows immediately knitted.

"Would you?"

Cold wind rushed through the estate, whipping the curtain-like branches of the willow to their left and the trees beyond the estates borders. In the distance, the lights on the chateau's living room started going on, the approaching night allowing a long blade of light to rush down the ancient stone stairs of the garden when someone opened the backdoor.

Looking into the distance, knowing who had just stepped inside the house even if the unfocused world in the distance would never allow him to see her, Gabriel went to face the water in front of him, eyes as far away from Adrien as they could.

"You should head back," he told him. "Nathalie is bound to come looking for you if you are not home on time."

Adrien practically jumped to his feet with those words, he practically run back to the stone path. It only took a pair of seconds, however, for the sound of his footsteps to come to a halt. Looking back, Gabriel found Adrien already pulling the willow's branches to the side and looking back at him.

"Aren't you coming?" he asked, just like before looking at the drenched clothes Gabriel had on. "You have to change those before dinner and we can go back together!"

"I won't be long."

Adrien went absolutely still. Lips parting then closing, he let go of the branches and waited a moment, two, and then a much longer one. He waited and waited until the phone inside his pocket started to ring and was forced to give up, to start making his way down the path that lead to the house.

"Adrien," Gabriel suddenly called after him. On the path, Adrien turned, green eyes rushing behind him until they found where Gabriel still sat, the serene waters of the reservoir slowly flowing in front of him.

"Your mother is fine," Gabriel reassured him. "There is nothing for you to worry about."

Adrien blinked, he smiled, Gabriel knew he did even if Adrien himself was too far for him to clearly see his expression. He knew it for the smile was obvious in his voice. It was clear in his words.

"I will run ahead and tell Mom I found where she said!" he announced, happily, and just like he had said he would do he started to run, going down the path leading to the house, disappearing behind the shrubbery and the plants and the trees—leaving only Gabriel at the reservoir. Gabriel, the Miraculous and a lie. The first of many. The very first one.

"Your mother is fine," Gabriel whispered, attention stretching across the reservoir, across the large body of water night was painting as black as tar, and towards the illuminated windows of the chateau in the distance. "She is fine."

Gabriel's nails dug into the moss at his side. One second was all it took for him to be back on his feet, for his fingers to dive inside his pocket, for him to take out the Miraculous. Hatred taking over his expression, Gabriel marched towards the limits of the estate, he jumped back down to stand on the small incline where Adrien had found him, and looked over the valley and the trees surrounding the roaring river below. Both Miraculous shivered on his hand, just like they knew what he was about to do, like they were begging him not to.

"If it wasn't for you—" Gabriel hissed at them and closed his hand around the brooches. Raising his arm, he aimed at the river, at the angry waters he could hear and that would see both the Peacock and the Butterfly Miraculous disappear forever. The gesture seemed to take all he had, his hand falling back to his side Gabriel lost his strength, he dropped to sit on the running water, the night that slowly settled around him leaving him with nothing both darkness for company, nothing but a promise for comfort.

 _"We will always be together,"_ Emilie whispered inside his mind.

Gabriel opened his hand, eyes meeting the two Miraculous that still rested safely against his palm, then following down the path Adrien had taken, to the place where he had been.

"We will always be together," Gabriel promised, fingers picking up the Butterfly Miraculous, pinning it to his shirt. "Always."

A small ball of light rose in the darkness, the purplish kwami that appeared from within going to stand in front of Gabriel, watching over him, just as a piece of paper came floating down the stream. Seeing it vault over the wall, going down the slope to the river below, Gabriel could still understand the lines he himself had drawn. They showed the reservoir, a boat, sun descending in columns over the couple sitting inside. They showed a summer that was the last, even if summer would arrive all the same, blinding and suffocating and as ruthless as time itself, to find the reservoir empty and the house closed, a pile of bags waiting just outside.

Driving out of the tree flanked path leading to the house on that day, Gabriel hit the brakes and stepped out of the car, marching up the front stairs. The door opened before he ever touched it, standing on the other side, serious blue eyes grabbing hold of his, Nathalie guided Gabriel's attention to the stairway behind her, to the boy sitting on the third step, to one of only two persons left in the world who never seemed to have any doubts that _this_ was still him.

"Dad!"

Adrien jumped to his feet, starting to run across the atrium. Months into the future, the pale creature wearing his father's face, raised his hand to his side, calling out to the sketchbook that he had sent flying to the other side of the park. Answering his calling the sketchbook collided with his hand with strength enough to make him shudder and it was just as it should be for pain robbed him of the rest, of having to watch the moment Adrien ran to him, of having to see his tears, it robbed him of **_everything_** , and left him standing in front of an elegant corner store, eyes watching over a humanoid figure, a drawing that was climbing up the building. He stood watching over it, waiting, until this lively music that had no place in his world reached his ears and he stepped away from the building and into the road.

A terrified scream filled the night. The car that had been coming down the street veered to the left, entering the opposite lane, pointing itself at the empty sidewalk as it tried to avoid the person standing in the middle of the road—or maybe it was trying to escape him. If so, it was for naught. Not even the jolt that saw the car lose momentum as it climbed up the sidewalk could fool the sketchbook that went flying through the open passenger window, that went out of it, that made its way back across the road, passed the row of parked cars and the garden grates, back to its owner hand.

A derisive scoff cut through the joyful pop music now filling the night. Stormy gray eyes running over the formerly empty page, over the man that was now imprisoned within, the creature wearing Gabriel Agreste's face marched deeper into the park, not looking back even when the sound of breaking glass echoed behind him and the car he had attacked come to a stop against the nearest building.

Empty, its engine still running, the car shone its solitary headlight over the Dupain-Cheng's bakery, illuminating the black letters embellishing the store, its light climbing up to the empty bedroom over it, to the living room where two boys were deeply asleep, going up still to reach the round window of the attic and stretch inside, washing over this petite woman drawn in charcoal and the teenage girl backing away from her, eyes wide with terror.

" **Mom!** "

Marinette's fingers slipped away from the ladder she had been holding on to. One footstep, then another, slowly taking her away from the drawing that had been her mother, she nevertheless kept her gaze on her, hoping beyond hope she could reach her, that her mother would listen.

"Mom!"

A new step back and Marinette's feet become tangled on the pink rug of her bedroom. A moment of unbalance, of fighting to stay on her feet, and she fell backwards, large blue eyes left to stare up at the drawing that was now nearing the bunk bed's ladder.

"Mom!" Marinette cried out. "It's me!"

Her mother didn't seem to care. Not for that. Not for anything. She kept coming, marching from under the bunk bed, looking down on Marinette with empty eyes.

 **"Mom!"**

A clicking sound cut through the frantic calling, light descended from the bunk bed and, hearing a soft _"Oh no"_ coming from her pajamas neckline, Marinette looked up at her bed, Tikki's whisper giving way to Alya's drowsy voice.

"Marinette?" her best friend called out, her disheveled head appearing up on the bunk bed, right next to the ceiling. "What is going—?"

Marinette's eyes bulged, then sharpened, the fear that was on her face seeming to travel all the way to Alya the same moment she went to lean, arms dramatically hung, over the bed's side protection, and she immediately jumped back, wide awake, the drawing that stood near the ladder, that raised it's head to look up at her, making Alya's face pale.

"What the hell?!"

 **"Alya! Jump!"**

She didn't. Not even when Marinette got up to her feet, not even when Marinette started running for the ladder, shouting at best friend to get down. No. Instead, Alya started backing away further into the bed and, sprinting up the ladder, escaping the drawn hand that tried to catch her, Marinette found her best friend rummaging through the bedside shelf, searching for her glasses, trying to put them on like doing so would change what she saw, what the two of them were seeing: this drawing that was coming up the ladder and the charcoal lines that preceded it, that were stretching over the bed, rushing to meet them.

"Alya, come on!" Marinette called out and she grabbed Alya's hand, dragging her towards the bed's side protection, making her sit with her legs dangling over the vacuum.

"Jump," Marinette told her, the charcoal lines getting closer and closer behind her, her mother already standing on the mattress, making her hand close firmly around Alya's. " **Jump!** "

 **Adrien**

Adrien woke up with a start, the loud crash coming from upstairs sending him flying out of bed, mind veering in fright, thoughts left so foggy by the convoluted manner in which he had woken that the panicked shout coming from the other side of the couch almost made him call out for Plagg rather than turn, and look, and catch Nino in the process of nose diving to the floor.

"Are you alright?!"

Nino, who was presently not so much lying on the floor as sticking upside down between the sofa-bed and the living room window, let out an aggravated grunt. Legs twitching in the air, the bedsheets he had tried to hold on to all tangled around him, Adrien's best friend nevertheless managed to twist himself to lie on the floor, one hand being raised over the edge of the mattress.

"Dude, can you—?"

Nino didn't need to say that twice. Or more exactly, he didn't need to say it at all. Adrien had already jumped onto the mattress and was running all the way to the window to help him up. A short struggle later and the two of them were sitting on the sofa-bed, crumbled bedsheets all around them, and looking up at the living room ceiling. The loud crash that had ripped them from sleep, that had almost made them shed their skins, had just now turned into footsteps. Quick, purposeful footsteps. Like someone was running.

" _What the hell?"_ Nino whispered, fingers feeling around the support table for the glasses he left right under the lamp. "What are those two doing?"

Staring at the ceiling and the modern ceiling lamp there, Adrien couldn't look more confused if he tried.

"I have no idea," he stammered. "I—"

It happened before a very bewildered Adrien could finish. The footsteps echoing down from the attic, running across it in such a clear way Adrien could pinpoint with scary accuracy when Alya and Marinette went over them, moved passed the ceiling lamp and approached the trapdoor, came to a grinding halt. Not a second later and the trapdoor was being pulled open. Alya was the first to appear, bare feet moving quickly down the ladder, then Marinette came down, ran halfway down the steps and turned back to grab hold of the trapdoor. She sealed it over her before jumping to the floor. Before both she and Alya turned to them.

" **Run!** " they shouted.

 _"Run?"_ Adrien and Nino echoed.

Neither Alya nor Marinette stood there, under the trapdoor, waiting for Adrien and Nino to stop staring at them like they had never seen them before. No. They come sprinting across the living room, jumped on the sofa-bed and ran over the mattress to where they were sitting. Within seconds, Alya had grabbed Nino's hand and was half dragging him to the stairway. Following close behind her, Marinette reached for Adrien's arm and pulled him across the sofa-bed. Their feet had just hit the white rug, however, when Marinette came to a halt and started to retreat, back going to press against Adrien's chest, fingers closing tightly around his wrist.

"Why are we—?" Adrien started to say and found himself pulling Marinette behind him almost the same moment.

It was very possible, not to say _probable_ , he hadn't been in any way awake up until now. That was the only justification Adrien could possibly think of for how long it took him to understand why Marinette had stopped, to understand that her gaze was stuck to the closed ceiling trapdoor and to look there.

His chin fell.

 _Something_ was coming out of the attic. Something that looked a disturbing lot like black lines and that was running through the ceiling and streaming down the walls, turning the trapdoor and the family pictures and everything it touched into drawings, and then this—this _thing_ , this two-dimensional _thing_ that looked like a human-sized paper sheet was slipping through the trapdoor's cracks, it was streaming across the ceiling, it was—

" _ **What the hell is that?!"**_

Adrien jumped, Nino's exclamation, the horrified look to his eyes as he was dragged passed the stairs to the attic and towards the stairway by Alya, actually reaching Adrien's still numb mind. The next moment, Marinette and Adrien had traded a glance and were running, sprinting passed the thing coming out of the attic and going after Nino and Alya. That didn't mean, however, that they weren't still looking back and, behind them, the paper-thing that had slipped out of the attic was releasing itself from the ceiling, floating into the living room, swinging left and right as it approached the wooden floor. The instant it hit the carpet, however, rather than lying there, it got up just like a paper sheet would, bending and wobbling and—

Adrien's eyebrows jumped.

It was standing up straight now, right next to the attic ladder, the sofa-bed and the ruffled sheets behind it, and "it" wasn't a paper sheet, "it" was a drawing! A charcoal drawing! And what the charcoal lines that made it showed was this very life-like, very human-sized drawing of woman and that face, the one made in charcoal, it's expression jumping as if a sketchbook was being flipped through, he knew it. He knew her!

"That's your mother!" Adrien exclaimed.

Marinette pulled on his arm, dragging Adrien out of the living room and down the small landing leading to the stairs.

"I know it's her!" she remarked, again looking back, towards the threshold leading to the living room, the hand that was not holding Adrien's sliding over the metal handrail.

"What happened?" Adrien managed to get out as their feet hit the stairs, his attention jumping between Marinette, right at his side, Nino and Alya, who were already on the landing under them, hands hitting light switch after light switch, and the lines pursuing them, turning the stairway ceiling and walls and floor into a drawing. "What on earth is going on?!"

"I don't know!" Marinette exclaimed and again she pulled him, guiding him down a second landing and passed the door that undoubtedly led to her parents' bedroom. "I woke up and she was like— _ **Dad!**_ "

Still looking over his shoulder, towards the Sabine-drawing that was now pursuing them, following them down the stairs, Adrien turned still in time to see the timid blade of light that had been peeking from under the bakery door fill the stairway, to see Tom Dupain-Cheng's shadow rush up the stairs, and to watch Tom himself stop at the base of the stairs, drying his hands on a cloth, wheat still covering his forearms and apron.

"Now, now," he sighed, patiently, his eyes following all four of them as they thundered down the stairs. "There is school tomorrow and it's getting pretty late—"

 **"Dad, run!"**

"No, no, Marinette," her father stated, putting the cloth over his shoulder and starting to move away from the bakery door and towards stairs. "There is nothing to eat at this hour. Come on, all of you, back into—"

Tom's words faded. Now in the middle of the last flight of stairs, looking up, he stood as if frozen, the drawing they were fleeing seemingly having come into view behind them for Tom's mouth went agape, incredulity flashing through his eyes.

 _"Sabine?!"_

All four of them grabbed hold of Marinette's father as they went by him. Marinette and Alya pulling on his hands. Adrien and Nino pushing his back. All forcing him to move down the stairs and enter the bakery's kitchen to the left. They were going by the wooden table now, running passed the croissants and bread Tom had been baking and the working oven. Still, for all their efforts to keep him moving, Tom kept looking back, slowing down, trying to catch a glimpse of the drawing that was his wife.

"Sabine!" he shouted back as soon as she appeared on the door to the bakery, the charcoal lines around her blasting inside to turn the oven and the tables and the pastries into drawings. "What happened to you?!"

Marinette looked back at her mother then up at him, her eyes huge.

"You don't know either?!" she exclaimed, pulling her father, and really all of them, into the store. "Was Mom upset?!"

 _"Upset?!"_

Tom's eyes widened. Still being pulled by the teenagers around him, he let his attention run over the store's counter and the tables that laid with their respective chairs turned over them, and went to stare at one of the tables nearest the store's windows. A distressed glance at the computer and receipts lying there, then back towards the kitchen to find Alya closing the door between them and Sabine, and Tom turned back to his daughter, visibly distressed.

"She wouldn't get turned into a drawing just because I was singing, would she?!"

If it sounded silly, it probably was, but from his vantage point as Chat Noir, Adrien couldn't help but cringe. He sincerely hoped that was not the case, because if Hawkmoth started akumatizing people over something as trivial as someone else's _singing—_

Adrien rammed into Tom Dupain-Cheng's back before he could finish that thought, the sheer strength of the impact making him stagger and fall back first to the floor. Air knocked out of his lungs, Plagg's _'Auch!'_ coming from inside his pajamas, Adrien sat, massaging the back of his head and leaned to the side, trying to see passed Tom, Alya and Nino's backs and to the front of the group, to Marinette, who was standing right in front of the bakery's front door, right hand closed over the handle, eyes gazing through the shutter's crooked blades to the street outside.

"Why are we stopping?" Adrien asked her.

"I–It's–The _—_ " Marinette babbled, before managing to put out something coherent, attention still stuck outside. "I don't think Mom was akumatized."

 _What?_

Adrien got himself back to his feet. A clear limp breaking his stride, feeling the cold slabs under his bare feet, he joined the group rushing to the bakery's windows, stopped right at Nino's side, pulled the shutter's blades apart and felt his chin drop.

For all the many many times, Hawkmoth had decided to allow his victims to mind control crowds, this one, he feared, was bound to take the cake. Marinette's house, as he had long known, was located on a street corner, the large window panels of the store offering this wide view over the roads around it, the quiet neighborhood to the left and the trees and high grates of Place des Vosges to the right. And, right now, in all those streets, crossing the roads, moving down sidewalks that were themselves being turned into drawings, the headlight of this car that seemed to have hit a nearby building shining over them, were the drawings of people. Dozens and dozens of them!

"Oh heck no!" Nino whispered from Adrien's left, fingers lifting the shutters' blades a tad bit more so he could watch the street. "It's like _The Night of the Living Dead_ out there!"

Looking back over his shoulder, over the store's tables and counter and towards the bakery door Alya had closed, Adrien felt his heart trying to jump out of his throat.

"It is a lot like _The Night of the Living Dead_ in here too!" he tossed at Nino and he seriously should have kept his mouth _shut_ because the moment he spoke Nino let go of the shutter's blades, looked over his shoulder and saw it. He saw _**it**_.

"Dude, are you freaking kidding me?!" Nino gasped, eyes bulging, back immediately hitting the shutters. "No! Don't look back!"

If there was one thing Nino should say when _nobody_ was meant to look back that definitely wasn't it. Now Tom Dupain-Cheng was turning away from the windows! And Alya! And Marinette! They were all looking back into the store and what they saw— _what they saw—_

"Get that door open!" Adrien ordered, Sabine's two-dimensional upper body having just slipped under the bakery's door, the way the entire group seemed to have frozen while staring at her, making him sound more like his father than Adrien ever thought he could. "Open it!"

"Open the door!" Alya and Nino joined in, rushing to Marinette's side, crowding her, them too trying to reach for the handle.

"I'm opening it!" Marinette shouted back.

The hanging bell tolled when the door was finally opened. Without hesitation all four of them moved passed Tom and into the street, all looking back to see him close the bakery's door and follow them.

" _ **Run!"**_

They did. They ran away from the store as fast as they could, a quick look up and down the street sending them passed the parked cars and across the road, the drawing of Sabine stepping outside the store sending them fleeing towards the only place that didn't look to be overrun by drawings just yet.

The park.

Place des Vosges.

It was their first mistake and they just had to run passed the cars parked on the other side of the road, to enter the park and leave the garden's high metallic grates behind to understand that.

Passed the real trees and grates that surrounded the park, passed the first meters of the park's gravel path, the park itself was no longer a mix of greens and browns with the elegant structures of fountains peeking from here and there. The park itself was a _drawing_ and it was changing. In fact, it felt like it was growing, stretching in all directions the buildings getting more and more distant, trees sprouting from where there had been none, fountains and park benches turning to nothing. And what was worse was that under their feet, moving through the drawing, were people, or the drawings of what had been people, and they were rushing to catch up to them!

"What level of insanity is this?!" Nino cried out, and he looked back, at Adrien, at the bandages around his ankle. "Good thing your foot healed super fast, dude!"

Caught by surprise, still looking around at the trees, at this new drawn path they were running through, Adrien pulled his best smile forward.

"Oh, it was not that bad in the first place!"

That was an incredibly huge _lie_ , but not one of the many he so often found himself worrying about. In fact, the thing to worry about right now was how in the world was he going to turn into Chat Noir in this scenario and, more importantly, to answer the question that he didn't know was also making rounds on Marinette's mind.

If Sabine Dupain-Cheng wasn't akumatized— _Who was?_

 **Nathalie**

Water was gently streaming down the fountain Nathalie sat at, curtains of water falling from each of its levels in transparent curtains that broke every time wind hit them.

Small droplets of water being sprayed into her hands and skirt, the night breeze taking to play with her hair finally forcing her to reach out and grab it with her hand, Nathalie lost a few seconds searching through her pockets for a hair tie, sighed when she failed to find any and shook her head, the soft gesture stopping when she glanced down.

The gravel near her feet, the same one where the tip of her ankle high boots were sank, was being ran over by dark lines, they were creeping forward, consuming each of the individual pebbles, turning them into drawings.

A sad expression going through her face, Nathalie closed her eyes. All it took was a few seconds, once she opened them again the fountain she sat at was no longer stone, the water was no longer water, instead she sat on a tri-dimensional drawing, watching an uninterrupted veil of water fall from each plate on the fountain, all but indifferent to the blowing wind. Beyond it, the lines that had been near her feet a moment ago were making their way over the gravel path, climbing up the nearest flowerbed, creeping over grass and trees and bushes, getting closer and closer to the carousel to the back of the park.

Watching one of the wooden horses being turned into a drawing, Nathalie dropped her attention to her lap, going to stare at own her hands. Her mood was so sullen she didn't even notice the man now making his way across the park or the way he stopped just a few steps to her left, studying the slight grimace on her lips, the distant gleam to her eyes. There was something to his expression while he looked at her that might have been remorse, but if it was it was rapidly pulled under, the man himself remaining as he was, quiet and studying Nathalie, watching her, looking at her as if he could read her.

"You are not pleased," Gabriel's voice finally spoke, the soft cadence to his words, the almost apologetic note to his voice, doing little but make Nathalie sit straighter and gaze at the way the drawn water cascaded from the fountain's plates in front of her.

"Does it matter if I am pleased?" she spoke.

There was a heartbeat. A moment of silence. The shadow Nathalie could glimpse near her feet, moved closer, sliding over the side of the fountain until the lines that made the water started to twist and draw the reflection of the person at her side. Stealing a glance at the pale grayish face, at the way short locks of black and white hair fell to his forehead, Nathalie averted her eyes, fleeing Gabriel's gaze.

She might have done so a moment too late.

"You are unhappy," Gabriel's voice noted. "With this."

Gabriel's sweeping gesture, the one her mind could picture, nearly causing her to turn, Nathalie let her attention wander back to the fountain, to a solitary but real flower bud floating among the drawn lines.

"I haven't thought about any of it," she stated. On the reflection, Gabriel's eyebrows jumped.

"You haven't _thought_ about any of it?" came the disbelieving answer.

Her fingers touching the drawn lines that had replaced the fountain's water, trying to reach the flower bud floating there, Nathalie could feel Gabriel's eyes watching her.

"You haven't thought," he repeated, quietly, a pensive note filling his voice, footsteps taking him closer to the fountain, closer to her. "I find that improbable."

The lines Nathalie's fingers were immersed in twisted; softly, gently, they closed and circled around each other until the flower bud was pushed against the side of the fountain. Leaning forward at her side, fingers reaching out for the small piece of reality in the midst of his drawing, the creature that had been Gabriel plucked it away from the lines. Water, or at least the drawn equivalent of it, dripping from his gloved hand and back into the fountain, he put the bud inside the sketchbook he carried and, after just a moment, pulled it back out.

"Your hand."

Gazing at Gabriel's fingers, then at what he had made of himself, Nathalie hesitated before she reached out for the bud, her frown only growing when Gabriel's long fingers touched her hand. The bud she was being given was just as lifeless as when it was floating on the fountain, the only difference being that now it was drawing. The bud was just that, just a drawing—and yet the moment Gabriel's fingers let go of it, the moment it touched her open palm, it bloomed, opening fully, the petals springing into life, unfolding, until the drawing of not a bud but a carnation laid in her hand, looking as alive as if it was real.

It may be that Nathalie smiled then, her fingers touching the jagged edges of the petals. It may be that she sat at the fountain, looking at the flower in wonder, having forgotten everything else. It may be. It was. For it was only when she turned, smiling, that she recalled that the man standing at her side wasn't himself, that her attention fell on the notebook he carried, that she recoiled from him—and it might be that he noticed.

"You are afraid," the Collector whispered, eyebrows arching in surprise, his eyes studying her through the reflection on the fountain. _"Of me."_

Nathalie looked at the flower he had given her, the one she had just put over the dark blue fabric of her skirt, shoulders tense.

"I would argue that is a rather sensible reaction," she remarked and gathering her courage she turned to the Collector, forcing herself to face him. "You locked me inside a book last time."

The way the Collector's gray eyes had just fallen away from hers, that small twitch to his lips— _that_ might have been regret. But if it was it was rapidly buried away and the Collector turned away from the fountain, from her, going to face the now fully transformed carousel and the lines climbing over the trees behind it, sketchbook dancing on his hand.

"You would have served well as an inspiration," he stated, attention returning to her. "But I can't think of any reason to reinvent you. Speak."

Nathalie's fingers closed over her skirt, a new glance at the carnation on her lap, however, and she found herself turning to the Collector, brow furrowed.

"This was not what you had in mind," she pointed out, a note of clear displeasure in her voice as she glanced around. "Your plan was _just_ to get Marinette's diary. There are other ways of achieving that. Simpler ways."

The Collector's gray eyes fell away from the fountain he was now studying. A moment of frowning at Nathalie and he strode to stand at her side, his reflection again on the surface of the drawing of water.

"What would you propose?" he asked, raising one eyebrow.

Nathalie looked straight into his eyes, jaw set.

"You have said Marinette is talented," she stated, watching him go through his sketchbook, what she knew to be drawing after drawing of those imprisoned inside being flicked through. "If you were to mentor her it would be a question of—"

"Too much time," the Collector finished. "I need those Miraculous—"

A ripple went through the drawn lines around them. It shook the trees, the benches, the fountain, it moved passed them and over the carousel and the grates to their back. Seeing the Collector drop the sketchbook to his side, opening it, the black lines cascading from inside going to grab the ones that made the world around them, Nathalie looked into the distance, trying to see passed the still real trees to the other side of the park and to the small corner building that was the Dupain-Cheng's household.

"What happened?" she asked, concerned.

"Something went wrong."

Looking at back at the Collector to find him frowning, then again at the bakery, Nathalie leaned over the fountain and squinted.

"I see nothing," she told him.

The Collector glanced her way.

"No?" he asked, and just like that an elegant hand, all gloved in black, was raised in theatrical fashion. "And then there was— _ **Light**_."

It happened just as the Collector snapped his fingers, even if not because he did. On the Dupain-Cheng's household, on what little of it could be glimpsed through the naked tree branches in the distance, the lights started going on, the figures — one, two, three, _**four —**_ Nathalie could glimpse going down the stairway, their shadows appearing and disappearing in the windows, making her grab the flower she had over her skirt and step towards the Collector.

"Adrien is in there," she reminded him, alarmed, and only to be met with a pair of tempestuous gray eyes.

"He is _safe_ ," the Collector retorted.

A tense glance over her shoulder, passed the fountain and the trees and towards the bakery, and Nathalie closed her hand over the Collector's arm.

"You don't want him to see you like _this."_

The Collector blinked, he rose his left hand, going to stare at the black fabric covering his fingers like he had just remembered what he was, what he had done to himself — what Adrien was bound to see.

"Sir," Nathalie called out to him, fingers digging deeper into his arm, pressing around the dark fabric he was wearing. " _M. Agreste._ "

Anger cut through the Collector's face:

"I'm not Gabriel Agreste."

Indifferent to that, a bell tolled in the distance. Looking back at the bakery, a _'tsk'_ going through his lips, the Collector closed his fingers around Nathalie's hand, the alarmed _"Run!"_ that cut through the night reaching them just as he opened his book and turned the pages back to the floor.

Black lines fell from inside once again, they cascaded until they connected to the ones on the floor, grabbing onto them, and the same moment they did, the park started to change, to grow in all directions, the still real red buildings surrounding Place des Vosges becoming more and more distant while trees sprouted from where had been none, twisting and stretching towards the sky, shrubs growing as big as edges, the once open park growing as thick as a forest.

"What level of insanity is this?!" a young voice cried out in response.

Standing behind a group of large black and white shrubs, small drawn leaves sprouting from the branches to hide them from the path cutting through the drawing in front of them, Nathalie and the Collector looked to the side.

There were five people running up the tree flanked path the Collector had just imagined. Just five. And Tom Dupain-Cheng, standing high to the end of the group, his friendly face filled with worry, was as easily recognizable to Nathalie as the teenagers with him. They were Alya, Marinette, Nino and, behind them, clearly trying to hide the limp breaking his stride, Adrien. He was on his pajamas, barefooted — but then again all of them were and they were running right in front of the bushes hiding her and the Collector, looking back at the drawings that could be see streaming through the lines that made the floor.

"We have to get out of here!" the girl that was in front of the group — Alya — shouted at her friends. Her next words seemed to give voice to what Marinette, who ran right behind her, was thinking. "If we aren't caught by _them_ , we are sure to bump into whoever did this!"

To the end of the group, Adrien gave a weird jump. Right hand moving to massage his chest, he glanced at the red buildings that could be glimpsed in the distance and turned back to the group.

"We can hide there!" he suggested, making the entirety of the group look to where he was pointing. "There are these huge arches further down that lead to the city, right? If we hide in the galleries, we can reach it and get out of here!"

Stealing a careful glance at the Collector, Nahalie was still in time to see him turn towards the place Adrien had pointed, the place the group was now trying to reach. A frown going through his expression, he ended up turning his sketchbook up, swiping his fingers over one of the drawings that was inside and bringing it back to the real world.

"The blond boy," he said once the drawing of a tall middle aged man with a goatee stood at their side. "Keep away from him."

The drawing nodded and waited. The orders where quick to come.

"Break the rest of that group and bring them to me."

The drawing slid inside the lines on the ground with those orders, streaming passed the tall drawn trees and edges like paper on water.

Turning his back on the group now disappearing down the tree flanked path, his attention lingering for an instant on Adrien's back, the Collector brought his attention back to the sketchbook, to the black lines connecting it to the drawing around him. It was all it took. The world around them was back to changing, and this time so fast Nathalie barely had time to understand what was replacing the trees and the edges and the path in front of them, before she and the Collector were standing right at the very edge of the drawing, the black lines around them giving way to browns and greens and all the colors that made the world, before she found the two of them standing just across the street from the Dupain-Cheng's bakery.

"This place is empty," the Collector commented, the spine of his sketchbook going to rest against his chin as he stood there, looking at the half-real bakery, thoughtful. "It shouldn't be too hard to find that diary now that no one is there."

Looking at the boundary between real world and drawing, the one the Collector hadn't made a gesture to cross, Nathalie pressed her lips tight.

"But?"

"But," Nathalie expected to hear, instead she found herself rushing to grab hold of the Collector's shoulders, the pained gasp that had just crossed his lips all the warning she needed to help him to the ground before gravity did that for her.

Helping him sit against a nearby tree, however, watching the Collector, much like Gabriel not even a hour ago, press his head, fingers clawing around his forehead, she might be forgiven for not giving a second thought to the akuma or the sketchbook it hid inside, and the thing, the thing slipped from the Collector's long fingers the same instant his back hit the tree, falling to their side, closing, breaking the black lines that connected it to the world.

From where Nathalie stood, it felt like an earthquake had just hit the park.

The trees, the bushes, the benches and paths and cars were all shifting, swaying, they were crashing into the lines under them and Nathalie barely had time to lock her arms around the Collector's shoulders, to try to keep him safe, before the entire drawing came crashing down on them.

Head buried on the Collector's shoulder, she expected pain, she felt— _nothing_. And raising her head to look around, arms still firmly closed around his shoulders, Nathalie found them not in front of the Dupain-Cheng's bakery just like a moment ago, she found them not on the forest path the Collector had imagined, but back where they had started. By the fountain. The carousel and the flowerbeds and the park benches all around them again.

Nathalie closed her eyes, she looked down, to the man she was still embracing. As much as she would wish to hold Gabriel even if just for a moment longer, she stepped back, knelled at his side, and looked around to the park, a park that, worryingly enough, had lost everything he had imagined.

"Are you in a condition to do this?" she asked, softly.

Her concern was the same as nothing. The pain that was all too obvious on the Collector's face turned to amusement. Sitting on the floor, his back against what was no longer a tree but the park's fountain, the black and white locks to his hair falling around his face, the Collector forced himself to raise his head and grinned.

"It's fortuitous then that I have you with me."

Nathalie's fingers went to close over his shoulder, her thumb running back and forth over it when that grin faded and he dropped his head back down. It took a moment, a long long moment before he even risked moving, but when he did, Nathalie found herself looking at the sketchbook fallen over the gravel at his side, she found herself picking it up and offering it back.

"I will find that diary," she promised once the Collector's hand closed over the black and red cover. "I will bring it back to you."

The Collector's gaze met hers, then it dropped back down, to the drawn carnation he had given her, the one Nathalie still held, the one that rested against the sketchbook she was giving him, the one he didn't seem to have expected her too keep.

 _"Why?"_ his eyes seemed to ask, but the words remained locked behind the thin white line of his lips. Instead of talking, he rose, waited for the drawings that were raising from the paths and flowerbeds and even from the carousel behind them to flank him, and stepped away from her. He had just entered one of the garden's paths, attention already on the red buildings and the prey he knew was there, when he stopped.

"Ladybug and Chat Noir," the Collector spoke, calling her attention to where he stood right next to one of the parks benches. "Would it mean anything to you, if I don't engage them?"

It felt to Nathalie like her heart had just stopped.

 _"Yes,"_ she whispered.

The Collector's fingers closed tighter over his sketchbook. Standing to the other side of the fountain, he looked back, at her, through the curtains of drawn water—

And left.

Watching the Collector step away, moving down the black and white gravel path, the drawings of the people he had transformed at his side, Nathalie glanced at the flower in her hand, gazing at it before reaching for the scarf Gabriel had given her. It wasn't until she reached to put the flower there, and this small purplish kwami disentangled himself from the scarf, fleeing a drawing that had almost gone to rest on top of him, that Nathalie remembered Gabriel had not left her alone.

"Dark wings rise," Nooroo whispered and Nathalie looked at him, watching the kwami's large eyes gaze into hers as he hovered in front of her, the drawn fountain just behind him. "Master trusted the Miraculous to the Lady."

He dropped his head, pressing his hands against each other, large delicate wings moving softly behind him.

"That is all she has to say."

 **Adrien**

Adrien landed on his side with a pained grunt, the ground having just snapped like an overstretched elastic under his feet and sent him up in the air before gravity wisely, but not at all kindly, took again hold of him, leaving him panting on the floor for a pair of seconds before he forced himself to sit, to breathe and to look around.

He did know what the hell had just happened, he didn't know where his friends had just disappeared to when they had been right in front of him just a few seconds ago, what he did know was that this forest path he had just been running down off, that forced him to squint to try and see pass the trees and to the palace-like buildings all five of them had been trying to reach, was gone. There were no longer tall trees around him, the forest had disappeared, instead he sat here looking at a drawn but normal looking Place des Vosges.

This was absolutely insane, he knew, but he was presently sitting in what had been one of the parks flowerbeds. Well, in what still was a flowerbed, he had crashed right on top of a bunch of flowers, but they were all drawing-like. Anyway, it didn't matter. There were the benches, the paths, the patches of grass, the shrubs! And what really mattered, just to his right, passed the boundary of the flowerbed, passed the path, passed this very clear frontier between reality and drawing that seemed to have stopped moving were the trees that surrounded the park, the metallic grates. He could even see the still very real cars parked on the street outside! And most wondrous of all? There wasn't anyone here. Not his friends, not a drawing, not _anyone,_ and as far as that worried him immensely, the order of things right now should be to transform first, worry later.

And so, jumping on one leg for a moment, the pain climbing up his ankle seeing him limp as he tried to get somewhere safe where he could turn into Chat Noir, Adrien forced himself to take a turn towards the path to his side, walk all the way to the metal grates surrounding Place des Vosges and vault over them.

A triumphant smile going across his face when he landed, or rather crashed inelegantly, to the sidewalk, Adrien found himself diving behind a nearby car to peek over its hood and almost immediately ran across the road, disappearing inside an alley that was just a few meters away.

His back hitting one of the building's wall, looking up and down what was simply this very narrow gray path with tall buildings on both sides, Adrien peeked inside his pajamas' chest pocket. Inside, laying belly up like he was vacationing at the beach, Plagg looked up at him with sleepy eyes.

"Do you remember when I asked if Hawkmoth slept?" he yawned, mouth going way more wide than it was usual, fingers rubbing his belly. "Well, he doesn't."

Pressing his lips not to chuckle, Adrien pulled Plagg out of the pocket.

"So, what's the plan?" the kwami asked once he was outside and hovering and pretty much still yawning in front of Adrien. "Do we have a plan?"

Adrien shook his head.

"I don't do plans," he reminded Plagg with a gentle smile. "I am just taking everyone out of the way before Ladybug gets here."

Plagg smirked, row after row of sharp white teeth coming to view as he rose out of the pocket.

"You know _that_ is a _plaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan!"_

The kwami disappeared inside the Miraculous, a burst of light all that was left of him when Adrien, or rather Chat Noir, stepped out of the alley, stretching, yawning, his cat-like pupils going suddenly round.

"My turn," he grinned and he jumped up to grab hold of a nearby streetlamp.

Going to stand on it, a theatrical bow being given to the empty street under him, Adrien looked around, searching the galleries he had pointed his friends towards, concern giving way to relief when, seeing movement a hundred or so meters up ahead, he squinted to see Marinette and her father ran across the road.

A smile taking over his face, eyes following Marinette for a moment, Adrien tilted his head.

He seriously should control himself.

He really _**really** _ should.

But — Chat Noir took the staff from his belt and twirled it in one hand, his mischievous grin now so wide it seemed to fill his entire face — where was the fun in that?

 **Marinette**

They were running. They were pretty much still running. The drawings that by now seemed to be absolutely _everywhere_ pursuing them as Marinette and her father went by column after column, panting, sweating, her father not so much jogging alongside her as being dragged behind her, the hand she kept locked over his wrist pulling him along.

"Don't stop, Dad!"

Her answer was little but a grunt. Looking over her shoulder, the lines that were consuming the galleries getting closer and closer, Marinette took a glance at her father's very red face. The way he was clearly out of breath, the way his pace was getting slower and slower, making her eyes fill with distress.

She had honestly thought hiding in the galleries was a good idea. She really _really_ had, it had not been just because Adrien had been the one to suggest it. In fact, the moment he had talked, the moment she had turned to see the red buildings she knew so well passed the drawings of trees, she had been certain hiding there was her way out of this, that it was how she could evade everyone, turn into Ladybug and solve whatever insane scheme Hawkmoth had chosen to top Robostus with. But, running through the archways, beige column after beige column falling behind her, the drawings she could see sliding through the walls and ceilings and floor, breathing down her neck, Marinette was becoming certain she had walked into a trap. This place, the archways, it being a trap was the only justification for what was happening now. And, at this point, trying to get her dad to move, having lost Nino and Alya and Adrien, when the drawing of that forest path had suddenly fallen apart, Marinette was so distressed by not being able to find any solution, by being stuck here — by Ladybug being stuck here — that she very nearly missed the figure leaning against the column she had just now ran passed. This figure who stood there, shoulder against the beige stone, messy blond hair falling to his face, a friendly grin on his lips.

"We meet again."

Marinette stopped so abruptly she not only let go of her dad's hand, she almost fell right there and then, her unbalance such Chat Noir rushed forward to get hold of her. For how fast Chat Noir's reaction had been, however, it seemed to take him a moment to understand that, now back on her feet, Marinette was _not_ holding onto his arm for the sake of keeping her balance. No. Marinette's concerns were a lot more practical.

"Stop flirting!" Marinette exclaimed, pulling Chat Noir and shoving him between her, her father and the tidal wave of people-drawings that were now jumping from the drawn lines and falling from the arched ceiling, that were stepping their way, closing around them in a circle and leaving them with their backs against all these watches on a store's window display. "Do something!"

Chat Noir made a theatrical twirl with his staff, winking at her.

"Right on it," he said, and he stepped forward, towards the approaching drawings, confident and bold and—

Marinette looked away from the drawings he had been about to engage to find Chat Noir frozen in front of her, expression suddenly tense.

"What are you doing?" she blurted out, watching him look around, towards the store behind them and the ceiling and the drawings that blocked their escape, his staff raised. "Why did you stop?"

And why was she having this feeling she wasn't going to like his answer?

"Everything they touch turns to a drawing," Chat Noir whispered at her through the corner of his lips. "I can't hit them."

Hands closing over his arm, fingers actually digging into the dark fabric of his suit, Marinette looked up at him, at the friendly face hidden behind the black mask.

"Did you even _think_ this through?!"

It was that smile. The one Chat Noir always gave her — or rather, the one he gave Ladybug — when he knew he had completely messed up and Marinette would have taken her hands to her head if she wasn't looking everywhere now. They were surrounded. Completely surrounded and not only by the drawings, the building itself, with its arched ceiling overhead and stores, was keeping them here as well. There was no way they were getting out. _There was no way out._ There wasn't anything except—

"Drawings," Marinette blurted out, attention running over the faces around her, all of them changing like pages were being flipped through. "They are drawings! Drawings, Chat! They were made on paper, they must behave like paper! Swing the staff! Swing it!"

He did. And really it was a good thing Ladybug wasn't the only person Chat Noir listened to for the way this was going they would have been in serious trouble if he had even hesitated. But Chat Noir didn't hesitate. He raised the staff and twirled it, using it like a kind of giant fan. Marinette had been right. Despite being only charcoal lines the drawings were paper. They behaved like paper and the instant the wind hit them they were catapulted backwards, blasting away from the archways and towards the park.

"Quick before they come back!"

Marinette closed her hand over her father's wrist once again, pulling him in the same direction the drawings had disappeared to and towards the street. She didn't know for how long they fled, only that they moved along the parked cars until drawing gave way to the real world and she and her father stopped, panting, backs hitting the very real building behind them.

Stopping at their side, for some reason holding only the tip of his right foot to the floor, weight resting fully over his left one, Chat Noir ended up turning to Marinette with a smile.

"Seems like I have swept in just in time to save you," he joked.

Marinette's eyes probably hadn't ever gone this wide.

"Save me?" she repeated, looking up and down his face, incredulous and still out of breath. "I was the one who saved you back there!"

Chat Noir raised his eyebrows. Putting one of the ends of the staff on the floor, his chin going to rest on the opposite one he leaned forward, a deeply charming smile on his face.

"You know," he purred, eyes gleaming. "I enjoy being saved. If you want to fill in for Ladybug—"

Marinette pushed his head back and she _really_ didn't want to know what her expression looked like for Chat Noir to be doubling over his stomach laughing that much. Of course, now she must be looking aggravated. She certainly felt so!

"I'm just joking," Chat Noir said, still chuckling, head dropping, hands joining in front of his face for a sincere apology. "Just joking."

Marinette had her hands on her hips.

"What makes you think this is the right time for a joke?"

Chat Noir's eyebrows visibly raised behind his mask.

"Is there ever a bad moment for those ?"

One of her father's large hands landed on Chat Noir's head before Marinette could come up with the answer, turning his head towards the park and this huge mass of drawings that were jumping out of the lines there.

"Is that a bad moment?" her father mumbled.

It certainly was for Chat Noir's eyes narrowed, he turned, one of the ends of the staff immediately hitting the ground.

"Hold!" he shouted.

They would have even if hadn't said it. In fact, Marinette had her arms around his neck already, so had her father, and it was possible Chat Noir was being slowly strangled by the two of them for when he extended the staff, pulling all three of them away from the street, his breathing sounded strained. Still, the floor rushed away from them, window after window going by while below them hundreds drawings clamored around the staff, trying to make it fall, trying to—

Marinette's head snapped up, a sound she could only describe as air hitting paper making her look right and left and—

" **Chat!** "

Chat Noir followed her eyes the same instant. To their left, on the sky, _**flying**_ and coming straight for them was a group of drawings. They were soaring over the naked trees branches on the other side of the road, looking like they were being carried by the wind. And the moment he saw them, Chat Noir clenched his teeth, he pulled on the staff, pushing it backwards, making it lose balance and sending all three of them crashing backwards.

They fell on their backs over the nearest rooftop, both her and Chat Noir landing straight on her dad, the sound of tiles cracking and breaking beneath them being heard before Chat Noir jumped from the top of them, pulled Marinette and her father to their feet and ran to the opposite edge of the roof, his staff, even if it was half-charcoal now, being sent downwards, to the garden underneath.

"Sir, go down!" Chat Noir ordered, a tense glance being given to the airborne drawings on the night sky. "You, hold this!"

Marinette was in charge of the staff now, eyes following her father who was already halfway down and then darting after Chat Noir who was sliding down the rooftop, heading right for the drawings. Seeing that, her heart seemed to have just become stuck in her throat.

"What are you—?!"

Chat Noir had just ripped one of the broken roof tiles, tossing it right towards their approaching pursuers. Not a second later and he himself had jumped, the shout of **"Cataclysm!"** left behind him seeing Chat Noir's hand boil as he flew from the roof and reached for the tile midair.

The tile exploded the moment he touched it, the blast sending the drawings and Chat Noir flying in opposite directions. The drawings back towards Place des Vosges and the floor. Chat Noir crashing back into the roof. A pained grimace going through his face and he was up, running Marinette's way, one arm wrapping around her waist before he jumped towards the garden underneath.

They were falling. Down and down, windows going passed them. And Marinette didn't exactly remember throwing her arms around Chat Noir's neck, but she definitely did for when they landed she was holding onto him, she was still holding onto him even as he ran to the dark arches just behind them and Chat Noir's back hit the wall, his eyes still stuck to the dark night sky.

"They were flying," Chat Noir panted, incredulous. "Do you think that was us? With the staff?"

"That was definitely us," Marinette cringed and she looked up to find Chat Noir giving her an awkward smile.

"Can we agree to never tell Ladybug about it?"

 _That might be a tad bit difficult_ , Marinette thought. Even so she nodded, her arms remaining around Chat Noir's shoulders as he lowered her to stand and the Miraculous on his fingered beeped its first warning. Unconcerned, he smiled.

"When this strikes twelve I will turn into a pumpkin," he joked, pointing at the black ring on his finger. A glance at Marinette's absolutely incredulous expression was all it took for him to chuckle. _"What?"_

"A pumpkin," Marinette repeated and she shook her head, leading the way out of hiding, entering the open space beyond the columns where they had stood.

The garden they had landed on was flanked by high buildings in all directions, a group of young fruit trees and a really pleasant vegetable garden all there was to it. Still, looking around it, it took Marinette a pair of seconds to point Chat Noir's attention to their left, towards a large chest pushed against one of the buildings' red wall:

"Hiding place."

Still keeping an eye on the sky, Chat Noir turned his attention the way she was pointing.

"Good catch," he said, immediately jogging forward. "Sir!"

Marinette's dad, who, she now discovered, had been hiding behind a group of high bushes, rose carefully from behind it and walked to were Chat Noir already stood, taking a pile of tools from inside the chest.

"I don't think you and your daughter can fit in there, Sir," Chat Noir commented once he was finished, frowning at how much space Tom took inside the storage chest once he laid there. "I will find somewhere else for her to—"

"No need!" Marinette announced and truly it was a good thing she didn't get to see herself through Chat Noir's perspective right now, because without her single-minded determination to hide, to turn into Ladybug as quickly as she could, Marinette wouldn't be seeing herself simply jumping into hiding. No. Was she Chat Noir and she would have just turned away from Tom Dupain-Cheng to find her petite black-haired self diving straight into the garden's compost bin.

"I found one for myself!" Marinette even now announced and the wooden lid banged in place over her, the words she could hear in the distance making her press both sides of her head in disbelief while sitting, legs crossed, in the midst of rotting pumpkin and onions and potato peels.

"Is she _serious_?" Chat Noir's voice rose from outside. And if he had ever sounded incredulous, her father—

"Very."

Marinette let her head fall to her hands.

 _Dad—_

"O–Okay?" Chat Noir stuttered.

Wasn't it for the sound of Chat Noir's Miraculous going off again making her head stand straight, Marinette might have groaned.

"Stay inside, Sir," she instead heard Chat Noir say, the sound of the lid closing over her father coming along with his words. "And, please, _please_ , don't peek outside right now!"

And with that his footsteps echoed down the garden path, all the way, it seemed, to the dark archways where he and Marinette had originally been at. A moment later, and this croaky voice floating to Marinette's ears was enough for her to know Chat Noir had de-transformed. Also, that his kwami was having a blast over the exploding tile.

"You better have brought a truckload of cheese if we are solving things like that!"

"We won't need a truckload if—Small bites!"

Getting out of Marinette's pajamas, going to sit on her shoulder, Tikki shook her head upon seeing Marinette curious expression.

"That's Chat Noir's kwami," she informed. "He—"

"Don't you dare swallow the entire cheese— _Plagg!_ Spit that out!"

Tikki sighed, turning her attention back to Marinette.

"He really likes cheese," she informed and Marinette chuckled, she did, even if she was presently sitting right on top of watermelon peels and—Her expression fell.

Looking up at her, Tikki flew down, landing on her knee.

"We are getting your mother back to normal," she promised, reaching for Marinette's hand. "We will bring her back in no time."

Marinette closed her eyes.

"I know," Marinette whispered and smiled, looking down at the kwami. "Thank you, Tikki."

A smile being sent her way, Tikki joined her on listening to the world behind the compost bin wooden walls. Chat Noir was still outside, still discussing with his kwami about cheese and then—

"Plagg, claws out!"

He had transformed. And she could hear his footsteps coming back into the garden. He was leaving now that was for sure, one more moment and—

"Still hanging in there?"

Marinette might have died. She might have died right there and then. And judging by Tikki diving headfirst into the stack of potato peelings next to Marinette's left leg so could she. Chat Noir wasn't leaving like both of them had thought. In fact, judging by how close his voice sounded he had made his way to the compost bin and was standing right—

The hinges on the lid overhead groaned, light from a nearby lamp flooded the compost bin's interior. In a second, Chat Noir's head appeared right above Marinette, one hand keeping the lid open, the other used to support his head, green eyes gleaming behind his mask.

"I can find you another hiding place, you know?" he offered.

"W-Why?" Marinette stammered, her voice filled with nervous laughter. A glance to her left and her right hand fell right on the potato peels covering the still dangerously in view Tikki. "It's super cozy in here!"

Chat Noir's eyebrows rose behind the mask.

"O-Okay," he stammered, sounding doubtful. Still, he smiled. "Stay put! Me and Ladybug will have this solved in no time!"

The lid was closed over her, leaving Marinette again in the dark, surrounded by the bin's wooden walls. Raising the hand with which she had been hiding Tikki, Marinette let her blue gaze fall on her.

"Why didn't I take his offer, Tikki?"

Covered from head to toe in potato peels the kwami chuckled. Waiting for the sound of Chat Noir's footsteps to disappear, they finally raised the lid a pair of minutes later and took a peek outside.

The garden was empty, the fruit trees to the left and vegetable garden to the right the only things in view. There weren't any drawings here, or in the sky. And as for Chat Noir—

Risking lifting the lid a little more, Marinette took her attention up, to the rooftops above the buildings' red walls.

She could still see Chat Noir's blond head standing over the black rooftops. He was still here. But he wasn't looking down. And so, onion cuttings being tossed to the side, Marinette jumped out of the compost bin and jogged across the garden, dropping behind the dark archways to transform like she was sure Chat Noir had done. Coming out of hiding a moment later, the garden illumination falling over her bright red suit, Ladybug gave one last glance to the chest hiding her father, a soft—

"Sorry, Dad."

—crossing her lips, before, gravel getting crushed under her feet, she marched all the way to the other side of the garden, and hide behind a lime tree.

It wasn't until Chat Noir was gone, his staff catapulting him in the garden's direction that she aimed for the rooftops and stood high over Place des Vosges, gaze following his back as he fell to the distance.

Determination written on her face, Marinette took quick glance around the park and jumped away from the palace-like buildings she stood on, moving towards the corner building that was her home, and landing among the plants on the terrace.

Raising the trapdoor leading to her bedroom, Marinette jumped inside, looked around and de-transformed, both she and Tikki immediately running to the chaise long, pushing it across the room, leaving one of its legs right over the trapdoor.

"This should do," Marinette whispered. Even with the lines running through her bedroom, even with her bunk-bed and the trapdoor and some of the cabinets having turned to drawings this should be safe enough and thinking that she turned to Tikki. "We will get Adrien, Alya and Nino first, we bring them back here and—Tikki?"

Until now listening to her, Tikki had just turned her back on her, her eyes and then herself dropping until she was hovering right over the trapdoor.

"Tikki?" Marinette called out again and stopped, right feet just short of stepping into the lines that cut through the room.

She had just heard it. The thing that had captured Tikki's attention. There were—It sounded like _footsteps_ coming from the floor below. It sounded just like someone was making their way up the stairs.

"Should we go look?" Tikki asked.

Marinette glanced at the kwami, then back at the trapdoor.

"That's Mom for sure," she whispered, biting into her lower lip. "I thought she had came after us."

Tikki flew back up, going to hover over the chaise long, eyes on Marinette's.

"We can't leave your friends here with her," she whispered, voicing Marinette's exact thoughts. "What are we going to do? Find somewhere else?"

A glance through round window, at the garden outside, showing her a tree turning fully into a drawing right in front of her eyes, had Marinette shaking her head.

"We can't just leave Alya and everyone else alone with whoever is roaming around," she said. "We have to find them first."

Tikki nodded, together she and Marinette made her way back to the terrace, the trapdoor left to fall as they stepped onto the terrace and the flash of light surrounding them saw Ladybug toss her yo-yo towards the higher rooftops over the small building that was her house.

For Nathalie, as she entered the Dupain-Cheng's living room, the loud crash of the trapdoor making her and the kwami hovering at her side run to hide behind the kitchen counters, it was nothing short of luck Ladybug never made her way inside.

 **Nooroo**

"The Lady doesn't like me, does she?" Nooroo was whispering, a deep sense of sadness touching his voice as he remained nestled on the golden and red scarf he had taken to hide in, large eyes peeking through one of the fabric's many folds. "I don't mind if she tells me. Does she hate me?"

Sat on the cold kitchen floor, back against the kitchen aisle, the delicate line of her neck all Nooroo could see, Nathalie flexed her fingers, attention set on the ladder leading to the attic and the trapdoor over it.

"Is there someone up there?" she queried.

Nooroo took his attention away from her and upwards, looking up to the half-real, half-drawn living room ceiling, and tilted his head.

"I–I don't think so," he whispered.

"I need to be sure."

Careful as to not make the drawn flower that was right at his side fall to the floor, Nooroo disentangled his wings from the scarf and rose up until he was peeking over the counter.

"There is no one there," he assured after a moment and turned back to the woman that presently held his Miraculous to find her still sitting on the floor and watching him, pondering, pondering—until she got to her feet and her lips finally parted.

"I don't hate you," Nathalie said.

"But she doesn't like me," Nooroo noted, sadly.

They went all the way across the living room, the kitchen counters and aisle left behind. Stopping at the foot of the stairs to the attic, Nooroo watched as Nathalie climb up the drawing, try to force the trapdoor open and, giving her own effort a head shake, go back down, striding back to the kitchen. It wasn't until they were there and Nooroo was hovering right over shoulder, the sound of cutlery being shuffled around inside the drawer Nathalie had just open mixing with his voice, that he again gathered enough courage to speak.

"It's because of today, isn't it?" Nooroo asked, softly, trying to read Nathalie's emotions, trying to see passed the determined lines to her expression. "Back home?"

The sound ceased. Glancing down, Nooroo found Nathalie's fingers over a ladle, her piercing blue eyes once he looked back up where bored on him.

"Home?" she repeated, quietly.

"When she saw me?" Nooroo offered, hopeful, and flew to stand in front of her, hands clasped together. "I didn't mean to scare her, I just—"

The blue eyes turned sharper still.

"You just?" Nathalie probed and looking at her like this made him feel like he was back on the temple, like he was back there trying to cover for one of his holders.

"I just wanted Master to rest," Nooroo explained, apologetic. "He would get better if he did. I wasn't hurting him."

Nathalie tilted her head, searching his eyes as if she was trying to find the traces of a lie. In the end, she dropped her attention to the drawer she had opened, the one under Nooroo, fingers again running over its contents.

"Does—" Nooroo risked saying, attention going over Nathalie's furrowing brow and pinched lips. "Does she believe me?"

A feeling of triumph hit Nooroo rather than the answer he sought. Curious, he looked down, peeking to the drawer she had opened. Her hand had just closed over something. A dark blue handle. And now she was closing the drawer. She was getting from behind the counter. She was holding—

Nooroo's eyes went wide.

"The Lady knows the Butterfly's weapon is a sword!" Nooroo shrieked, flying after her, anxiety taken over his mind as he watched Nathalie leaving the kitchen, determined, and with a knife on her hands. "She doesn't have to go around with that!"

A pair of blue eyes glanced back.

"I don't know how to use a sword."

"She doesn't have to! I do! _Lady!"_

Nathalie was to the top of the stairs to the attic already, shoving the pointed end of the knife through the drawing that was the attic's trapdoor, cutting through it. A moment later, fingers forcing their way through the gap, ripping it wider and wider, she was peeking inside the room, the reason why she had been unable to open the trapdoor was obvious enough. There was something overhead. Some piece of furniture. And before Nathalie could hurt herself while trying to push it out of the way like Nooroo feared she was about to do, he squeezed himself through the gap and entered the room, rose from under what turned out to be a pink chaise long and pushed it aside.

Nathalie opened the trapdoor a moment later, going to sit on the attic's wood floor, her feet still on the ladder's topmost step.

Stopping over her shoulder, landing there, still fidgeting, Nooroo gave a nervous glance to his surroundings.

The room where they stood was unmistakably feminine, pink and very tidy. There was this high bed. The chaise long he had pushed out of the way. A long cabinet, covered with books, clothes and—

Nooroo didn't have time to go over anything else. There was this call inside this mind, this glimpse of a building's entrance, of a notebook cutting a thin charcoal line through the floor, a whisper that tried to raise his attention—or the Lady's attention, for the very moment his holder noticed this was him, Nooroo, and not her, the careful probing ceased.

"Where is _she?"_ his holder's voice exploded from the other side.

Nooroo swallowed, turning to where Nathalie sat, her legs still on the stairs leading to the attic, fingers touching the Miraculous, this distant look to her eyes.

"Lady," he called out to her. All it took was a glance to the butterfly-shaped light around his eyes, for that distant look to Nathalie's eyes to disappear. "Master already knows she is here."

A glance at the lines she had been touching, her fingers closing over the small center jewel of the Miraculous and she was up, looking around the room.

"Tell M. Agreste that if he wants me to search this room, he will have to buy me time. If anyone finds me here—" She looked at the meat cleaver she stilll had on her hand. "If someone finds me here with _this—"_

The light surrounded Nooroo's eyes faded, perplexity taking over his voice.

"Does she want to tell Master she is holding a _knife?"_ he queried in a tiny voice.

Nathalie frowned, eyes surveying the lines that cut right through the room, that stretched all the way from where she stood to some of the cabinets under the bed and that then made their way up it.

"I would much rather you ask if he had the presence of mind to bring an eraser," she retorted, and Nooroo might have stood here staring at her in utter bewilderment, wondering if he truly should say that, but—

"Was—Was that a joke?" Nooroo risked asking, embarrassment written on the flutter to his wings, on the gentle melancholy to his smile. "I was never any good with those."

Nathalie's eyebrows rose. For a moment, just for a moment, she stood with the room's round window to her back and looking at him like she was seeing someone else—then she turned away from him, eyebrows in a sharp line.

"I need time."

Nooroo nodded. Immediately, the garden outside filled his mind, the sketchbook the Collector was holding, that he took to flip through while listening to Nooroo coming into view.

"Master says no one will come in here," Nooroo announced once the exchange was over, his attention going back to Nathalie. "He says the Lady doesn't have to worry."

But standing with her left hand over the stairs to the bunk bed, fingers pressed around the drawn lines, Nathalie worried. She worried all the same.

"If anything happens to him, _anything at all_ ," she said, tone becoming forceful. _"Tell me."_

Again, Nooroo nodded, diving back inside the connection. His holder was jumping down from the rooftops now, landing on one of the street lamps, eyes surveying the drawings that filled the streets and the garden, then he raised his right hand and snapped his fingers.

That sound, the same sound that made the entirety of the drawings roaming the street look up, that made them follow the Collector the instant his feet hit the large slabs of the sidewalk, went through Nooroo's mind like a lightning bolt. The streets, the palace-like red buildings, the notebook his holder had just opened, all shattered, all faded away, all were replaced by the pink of Marinette's bedroom, by her bunk bed and books. What it meant that he was still here, that he was the one looking through the connection, that he was not inside the Miraculous, left Nooroo staring at Nathalie, utterly perplexed.

"She—" Nooroo stammered, watching Nathalie make her way across the room, towards the desk that ran near the wall, her footsteps made loud by the wooden floor. "She isn't going to transform?"

Nathalie looked back at him, fingers already closing over a drawer's knob:

"I assume four eyes are better than two."

Nooroo's eyes widened.

"The Lady wants _my help?"_ he whispered, and he looked around, attention going from the bunk-bend to the cabinets under it, to the pink chaise right next to the trapdoor and from there to the wall opposite, right at the other side of the room, where he could see a small group of shelves.

A new glance towards Nathalie, to find her already searching through a drawer, and Nooroo flew across the room, stopping near the shelves.

He was searching through them now. Opening each book and putting it back in place, looking behind a stuffed teddy bear and struggling to sit it back up when it almost fell on him, closing the lid on a small box when a pile of magazines cuts of his holder's son appeared from inside, searching—

Nooroo stopped, the picture that was in front of him now, the picture he had actually just slightly pushed to the side so he could search behind it, leaving him to stare at its occupants, at this teenage girl smiling along with her parents, at this girl with kind blue eyes his holder thought was Ladybug.

His fingers stretched until they touched her face.

He remembered her. She had been the one that had come to his holder's home once, to give back the grimoire Adrien had lost. She was the same girl who had been at headquarters just a week ago, the one his holder had taught how to make a jacket.

He remembered her. She was timid, unsure, and she hadn't felt anything like Ladybug to him, she felt nothing like the unstoppable force Tikki's new partner had proven herself to be. But people — and at that Nooroo's eyes sharpened — people _changed_. And if his holder was right, if this young lady, Marinette, was Ladybug, then Tikki—

Nooroo looked around the room, his hand falling away from the picture, attention going over the books and the stuffed animals, the clothes and the sewing machine, heart getting heavier and heavier.

He wanted to help. He did. But he didn't want to find Tikki. If she lived here he would rather not know. But the Lady — Nooroo's attention slipped to where Nathalie was, leaning over Marinette's desk, searching each drawer — she had asked.

Master would have _ordered_.

The Lady had _asked_.

And Nooroo, he stood here, looking at the photo of Marinette with her parents, not knowing what to do.

 **Adrien**

Chat Noir was peeking from behind a brick chimney, eyes searching around him, hopefully, before the empty skies he had been surveying made him sigh. Getting back to his feet, something he regretted the moment his ankle screamed at him to get back down, Chat Noir looked left and right and let himself slide down the roof's incline, slipping away quietly until his feet hit the small wall at the end of the roof. A moment of looking down, watching the still real street and cars down below, of squinting at the side of the park that was under the control of whoever Hawkmoth had sank his claws into this time and he extended his staff downwards, slid down it until his feet hit the beige slabs of the sidewalk and disappeared quietly into the still real galleries on this side of Place des Vosges.

A flash of light went over the archways a moment later. Pulling his leg up, right hand closing over his ankle, feeling the rough fabric of the bandages, Adrien limped all the way to this elegant nook that was one of the buildings entrances and, careful as not to step on the drawn slabs that cut the space right in front of it went to sit against the door.

It took a few seconds, more than a few actually, for Adrien's voice to cut through the quiet.

"Please, do something about this, Plagg," he whispered, fingers pressing around the bandages around his ankle. "I think it is getting worse."

A small black dot flew down from his shoulder and stopped right to the side of his leg, one very tiny hand reaching out to touch his ankle.

"I'm already doing something about it," Plagg's croaky voice answered. "I told you if I went around messing with it was going to get worse."

"Well, I can't afford it to get worse!" Adrien retorted. "Not now!"

"You said the same _yesterday._ "

Adrien grunted something under his breath, the cackle that answered it echoing up to the elegant if very old column of doorbells over his head and then blasting forwards towards the galleries, before he again talked.

"We have to find Alya and Nino," Adrien said, testing his feet once he was up. "So, Plagg, claws—!"

If only he had said that just a moment earlier. If only he had said it rather than snap his lips shut, the incomplete incantation hanging in the air causing Plagg to crash like a bullet into the Miraculous rather than disappear inside it. If only he had done anything but stare wide-eyed at the floor when this sound like paper being crushed came right from under his foot and he found himself over not the drawn slabs he had tried to avoid but a small line right in front of them. If _only_ he had shouted the incantation right then!

But he didn't. And because of that Adrien, not Chat Noir, was left standing on the galleries when this ripple went through the drawn slabs he left behind. He was the one standing here when a drawn hand reached from under him and he was pulled down, straight into the drawing.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

Hope you enjoyed it!

About the next parts: For keeping the size under control sake, the last chapter of the Painted Lady is now two. The next part is nearly finished, there is just some trouble going on that might delay it a bit but I do hope I can make it go up two weeks from now (so, may I risk saying the 24th?). So strap on, because there might be sanity in publishing yet and we are almost ready to enter a new chapter.

In the meanwhile and considering the all-around situation in the world, I hope every one of you and those around you are fine. Keep safe.

~Windcage


	8. The Painted Lady - Part 5

**The Painted Lady**

(part 5)

 ** **Adrien****

Adrien was being pulled, black lines spiraling around him as the person floating at this side, this old lady with curly hair that had been made into a drawing, kept her hand closed around his ankle, not letting go even as Adrien kicked and twisted and bit his lips at the fact that, for all the good that did him, he might as well have been still. The drawing didn't react to his struggling, not at all, and they kept streaming through the buildings around Place des Vosges at an absolutely mad pace, both real and drawn trees going quickly by.

Of everything that could have happened __this__ , Adrien kept telling himself, __this__ could only be topped by straight up bumping into whoever Hawkmoth had transformed! And if that wasn't who this mad dash was leading him to then—!

Looking towards his legs, the blue fabric of his pajamas—not to mention his own body—looking completely out of place in the middle of the colorless world around him, Adrien twisted once again, tried to aim a kick at the drawn hand wrapped around his bandaged ankle and stopped, confusion taking over his mind before he ever had the opportunity of delivering the blow.

Plagg's head, followed shortly by the rest of him, had just appeared from the pajama's chest pocket. Hanging on to his shirt for a moment, giving Adrien this utterly insane grin, followed by a thumbs up that had never meant anything good, Plagg let go of the fabric. From where Adrien stood it felt like the kwami had just been catapulted backwards, this black dot going straight passed his head as Adrien kept sliding down the drawing and Plagg was left behind.

Twisting himself to look back—something that was easier said than done—Adrien didn't have to search long to see Plagg dart behind him, to see him aiming at the pair of drawn legs hovering at his side, grab at the formerly wool socks that sagged around the drawing's ankles and—

Adrien's eyes had just gone huge.

"What are you—?!"

It happened before he could finish. Plagg had opened his mouth just as wide as that one time he had tried to put down an entire wheel of cheese in one go, he had opened it so wide there didn't seem to be anything else left of his face and then, he closed it shut right over the drawing's legs. He—He _****bit****_ it! He had bit it! And if Adrien had been wondering if paper-people had any sensation at all — something which he __hadn't!__ Why would he be wondering about that?! — he got his answer right as Plagg managed to dive for safety inside his sleeve.

The drawing was looking back, __irate__ , and—

The angry expression had just changed, it changed like the page that held that bared teeth, narrowed eyed scowl had been flicked. Eyes now wide with shock, the old lady that was the drawing stared at Adrien from behind her round glasses, she stared at him like it couldn't believe what she saw, she stared at him—and out of nowhere she let him go.

Now sliding down the black and white lines, the very real trees that had been going by him at high speed starting to move slower and slower, Adrien had half a second to wonder how on earth he was going to get out of here before a startled yelp crossed his lips and he found himself crashing down, going right through drawn living rooms and couches and TVs and carpets and—

Adrien just had time to let out a curse, to think that somewhere back home his father and Nathalie had probably just simultaneously woken up and gravitated towards the atrium at the grave disturbance they had felt, before what for sure was the last floor on the building he was falling through __opened__ and the drawing structure sent him straight back into whatever was left of the real world—and as it happened straight against something unfortunate enough to have to break his fall.

Now lying belly up on the floor, all tangled up on whatever that was and looking up at the black and white arched ceiling of what he knew far too well by now to be the corridor-like galleries surrounding Place des Vosges, Adrien sighed, pressed his eyes and practically jumped out of his skin when the thing he had landed on groaned, pushed his legs away, got from under him and—

"Adrien?"

Adrien's chin had just dropped. A girl, her curly brown hair a complete mess, had just gotten from under him. She was adjusting her glasses. She was picking the phone that rested over the floor's stone slabs. She was—

"Alya?" Adrien mumbled, this immediate sensation he knew exactly __who__ was the rest of the thing the upper half of his body was still on top of, making him look down. Suffice it to say he wasn't wrong.

 _ ** _"Nino?!"_**_

Lying there sprawled belly down on the stone slabs, Nino turned his head to look back, right hand rising to greet him.

"Hey, dude!" he cheered while Adrien scrambled away from his back. "Where the hell did you came from?"

The ceiling was the answer, but knowing that didn't seem to be part of Nino and Alya's priorities. Still trying to get his bearings back and, more importantly, to look away from this heavy wooden door at his side and towards the park to figure out where he was, Adrien just had to get to his feet to be pulled into a bone crushing hug by his friends.

"We have been looking for you!" Alya told Adrien, stepping back, this old-fashioned chandelier, one of the many hanging from the spaces where two arches intersected — and one of the few that somehow was still real — hanging right over her head. "I thought I had heard you some seconds ago, but—"

 **"** ** **BAM!"**** Nino exclaimed, the hand he had just slapped his leg for effect making both Adrien and Alya turn to find him grinning. "We didn't so much found you as you sprint-crashed into us! And, seriously, dude, we were so __freaking__ worried! We lost sight of everyone when the drawing went all wobbly back there! We thought you all had been turned into one of those __things__ by now!"

Again, Adrien didn't get the chance to get a single word out, not even to point out he hadn't 'sprint-crashed' into anyone, those last words of Nino's had Alya stepping forward, a hopeful look in her eyes.

"Have you seen Marinette?" she queried, visibly concerned, those words taking her straight to the corridor-like gallery they were standing on and the closed store to their side, to the row of columns that marked the boundary between the building and the street, just like she expected Marinette to step from behind one of them. When she didn't, Alya turned back to him.

"We completely lost her," she said.

Adrien bit the inside of his cheek, the phone Alya had picked up a moment ago, that she was holding up now, clearly streaming for the Ladyblog, forcing into this godlike effort not to get a smile stuck to his face on account of the rolling camera.

"I saw Marinette and her father some minutes ago," Adrien informed, the suspiciously Plagg-shaped lump on his right sleeve, the one he had just caught a glimpse of, making him point both his friends' away from himself and towards the park beyond the columns and the line of parked cars. "They had this huge group of drawings following them."

Adrien's hand was right over the chest pocket now, he was giving his arm this jolt to get Plagg to slide out of the sleeve. Rather than disappear once his belly was no longer keeping him stuck inside the sleeve, Plagg took a glimpse at Alya and Nino's backs, held the pocket open and looked up, straight at Adrien.

 _ _"Ditch them!"__ he mouthed, Adrien's equally silent—

 _ _"How?!"__

—going unanswered when Nino turned, right in time, it seemed, to see Adrien still speaking with his pocket.

"Did you say anything, dude?" he asked, eyebrows arched.

"No!" Adrien exclaimed, the way he had just snapped his hand over the pocket making Plagg let out a loud protest when he was just about squashed. "I was just saying I lost sight of Marinette and her father when Chat Noir took them to the roofs! I'm sure they are fine!

It was like a light had just gone on behind Alya's eyes, she too had just turned, the garden left on her back.

"Chat Noir is here?" she beamed. "Is Ladybug here too?"

Phone again pointing straight at Adrien, Alya had just filmed him shrug.

"If she isn't yet, she must be arriving, right?" he said. "Chat Noir must have told her about this. She will be here in no time!"

 _ _I hope__ , Adrien finished to himself, and seeing Alya turn back towards the garden, the gleam to her eyes clearly stating she expected to see Ladybug swing by any moment now, he truly __truly__ hoped Ladybug wasn't back at her home, asleep, and having absolutely no idea of what was going on.

As far as is friends were considered, however, the possibility that Ladybug might be having a good night's sleep clearly didn't cross their minds. Nino, in fact, had just let out a visibly relieved sigh.

"Right," he muttered, nodding. "If Ladybug and Chat Noir are here, then we have to get out of their way."

Adrien's eyes narrowed. Inside his pocket, Plagg, who had been until now lying belly up and clearly sulking, had just gotten up, the tip of his ears appearing just over the pocket as he tried to listen in.

"Did you two have a plan or something?" Adrien probed, one finger pressing Plagg's head further down, trying to get him, or more exactly his ears, back into hiding.

Standing in front of him, suffering from none of Adrien's present Plagg-related concerns, Alya and Nino traded this glance.

"We have been trying to go back to the bakery since forever," Nino informed, hand moving to massage the back of his neck when he found Adrien with his eyebrows raised.

"We know it is a horrible plan, dude," Nino went on to say, while crossing his arms. "But we have gone all around the park trying to get out of here and every single exit is blocked out. We are pretty much stuck."

Alya sighed and pulled one of her curls away from her face.

"Also, I read it is worse to just remain still at one place in a crisis scenario," she joined in and immediately covered her phone's microphone with one finger, voice dropping.

"I'm making a post for the Ladyblog about that and everything," she whispered, attention jumping from Adrien to Nino and then the other way around. "So, we should really try to be on the move at the very least."

Adrien gave her a tense smile. As much as he disagreed with the get to the bakery part of the plan, this last idea—Adrien stole a glance to his pocket, Plagg giving him this nod from inside putting him straight on the move.

"So, how did you end up here?" Adrien asked as he, Alya and Nino started to make their way down the galleries, parked car after parked car falling behind them as they walked. "You are on the opposite side of the park we were running to."

Nino had just visible cringed.

"Oh, that," he said, just as Alya inverted the camera on her phone, let out a quiet __"Damn it, I forgot!"__ jumping from her lips and jogged to walk a meter or so in front of them.

"Dear viewers, sorry for the interruption!" she now announced, talking at the phone. "As this reporter was saying just before Adrien appeared, the situation with these drawings is still so fresh, all the Ladyblog can offer you is questions! Who did Hawkmoth corrupt this time? What is this person's motivation? How does his or her power truly work? We know by personal experience that the drawings don't have the ability to turn people into one of them. In fact, what happens when they touch us is—"

Alya turned, starting to walk backwards, camera pointed at where Adrien and Nino were walking behind her.

"Show them again, Nino," she asked him.

Adrien had just blinked, the way Nino had just raised his left arm to show this patch close to his wrist, this patch that had once been in the same grey fabric of this rest of his pajamas and that now was black and white lines leading Adrien to look at his feet... and to sigh with relief. Alya was right, the foot the drawing had grabbed was still pretty much a real foot, it was just the bandages that were now drawings, everything was fine—

Up until Alya continued.

"It is possible that being pulled into the lines turns you straight into a drawing," she theorized. "Fortunately this reporter managed to get hold of Nino before he was pulled in there so there is no way we would know! What we do know is that when one drawing failed to carry Nino away, dozens of them started following us and—!"

Alya's voice faded slowly. The cellphone camera she was still filming Adrien and Nino with, had just captured Adrien's face grow incredible pale, it had just filmed him look to the side, towards the park and stop.

"Adrien?" Alya called out, peeking from over the phone, her tone going from concerned to that of her reporter-self in an heartbeat.

"You are looking like a ghost, Adrien," Alya said, walking up to where he and Nino stood. "Do you have some information that can keep our viewers—?"

Adrien's lips turned into a thin line.

"Run," he whispered, attention stuck at the park.

"What?" Nino babbled. "Why?"

"It doesn't matter! Run!"

And Adrien closed his hands right over Nino and Alya's wrists, he dragged them with him, forcing them to flee down the galleries, the windows of the store they had been going by left behind.

"What is wrong?!" Alya cried out. "What is happening?!"

And with that question she looked to the side, to that place away from the sidewalk and the street and the cars and everything that was still real around them, she looked into the distance, to that place Adrien was still stealing glances at, to that place in the park where color turned into black and white lines, where reality gave way to drawing, to this place where this ripple was running through the park like the entire area was a sheet of paper.

"Oh no," Alya whispered, the hand that had hanged lose from Adrien's grasp now closing around his wrist as this black mass started to mount in front of the ripple, as it started getting closer and closer to them. "How did they find us?!"

Adrien's lips turned into a thin line. He knew the answer to that question. What he didn't know was where on earth was Ladybug!

 ** **Marinette****

The black tile under Ladybug's right feet had just cracked, the chunk that fell out of place sending her diving to hide on the side the roof opposite Place des Vosges as it tumbled down the roof's sharp incline and, in what seemed to be a final leap of faith, jumped right over the edge of the building, diving for the street down below.

Closing her eyes, sliding a little more down the roof for safety, Marinette counted the seconds until the tile hit the floor. Contrary to what she expected to find once opened her eyes, however—and that could be easily described as a crowd of drawings jumping from the grates and trees of the park, rushing to investigate the sound—she found herself surveying and absolutely empty street.

Getting back to her feet, her concern of getting overwhelmed by drawings from just a pair of seconds ago giving way to discomfort when none appeared, Ladybug looked around. She was standing right on top of the high roof of l'Hôtel du Pavillon du Roi and with the old wooden carousel just meters to her left. Under her feet, even if she couldn't see them, were the arches she and her friends had been trying to reach, the very same ones that connected to the rest of the city.

Despite that, however, that Ladybug was presently standing here, her red suit making this sharp contrast with the black tiles behind her, a careful jump leaving her standing right on top of one of the building's chimneys, had less to do with this being her friends' destination than with the fact that __this__ was the tallest of the building's around the park and that Marinette had been sure she would be able to get a clear view of them, or of anyone who needed help, if she just stood here.

Disturbing as it was, however, she had been here for some fifteen minutes and it didn't only look, it actually __felt__ , like no one was here.

The park, the buildings, everything was empty.

There was not a trace of Adrien or Alya or Nino.

There was no sign of the many drawings that had been here.

Whoever Hawkmoth had akumatized was absent too.

And Chat Noir—

Marinette shook her head. At this point, she was all but chastising herself for not having caught up to him early on. Maybe if the two of them were working together right now, maybe if one of them patrolled the place while the other stood watch, maybe if they met from time to time, then—

A shiver running through the park put an abrupt end to her thoughts. In front of her, the black and white trees undulated, they did just as if they were being hit by wind—but there was no wind to speak of, there was no wind that could make the __entire__ park start moving and raising and forming this large ripple that, to Marinette's utter horror, started to move across it, going from right to left in front of her, heading straight for the opposite side of the park where her home was located, trees and the benches and all that was drawn falling to it as this black mass mounted up front and—

Marinette jumped from the chimney, her feet hitting every bump as she slid down the tiles, the dozens of drawings she could see at the front of the ripple — that were that black mass — making her aim the yo-yo at the streetlamp many many meters below her.

She had this horrible feeling, someone had found her friends before her.

 ** **Adrien****

"What do you mean you were caught by a drawing?!" Alya exclaimed, somehow still managing to hold her phone straight as she ran, Adrien's increasingly pained limp leaving her to look back as he struggled to keep up with her and Nino.

"That's how I slammed into you!" he exclaimed, looking passed the columns to their side, right towards the street. "I came crashing down through the ceiling!"

Nino's eyes had just gone huge.

"Dude, you seriously have to open the conversation with that!"

The three of them took a sharp turn with those words, the road that should have been somewhere around here having been replaced by the drawing of a wall forcing them to aim straight for the galleries that ran perpendicular to the ones they had just left and to keep going around the park, trying to find some way to escape the tidal wave that was rushing to catch them.

"Seriously! Who on Earth thinks of something like __that?!"__ Nino panted while looking at the drawings gathering in front of the increasingly closer wave.

"Who cares about it right now?!" Alya exclaimed, reaching to grab his hand. "Run!"

Seeing both his friends vault over the step that lead from the road to the galleries, Adrien clenched his teeth as he himself stumbled, struggling to give even walk as Alya and Nino kept running, getting further and further away from him. As much as he would __love__ to say what was happening was a clever ruse so he could jump back into being Chat Noir—

Damn it. Damn it! _****Damn it!****_

Adrien dropped to one knee right in the middle of the road, fingers clawing at his ankle, this grimace crossing his face as he looked up to find Alya and Nino had stopped and where looking back from inside the galleries, the windows to some fancy restaurant to their left, the row of columns to their right.

"Go!" Adrien shouted at them. "I will catch up to you!"

"Are you kidding me?!" Nino exclaimed, both him and Alya already running back. "I will carry you if I have to!"

"We will both carry you!" Alya remarked.

The part of Adrien who wasn't touched by seeing the two of them move down the galleries, the store window that had been right at their side left behind, was utterly horrified by the exact same thing. He was going to get Alya and Nino caught. He was getting them caught!

 _ _"Plagg!"__ Adrien begged through the corner of his mouth, eyes stuck to his pocket, voice barely a whisper. "Do something!"

He did. For the first time rather than repeating for the umpteenth time this was going to get worse, Plagg simply __acted__ and to Adrien it felt like this electric current had just gone from the Miraculous on his finger all the way to his ankle, the prickling feeling so sudden, Adrien was catapulted back to his feet, that he was standing like a scarecrow right in the middle of the still tarr road when Alya and Nino stopped and tried to reach for his arms.

"It's fine," Adrien all but babbled, his words leaving his friends just as perplex as him.

 _ _"What?"__ they blurted out.

Adrien had to physically shake his head to snap out of this.

"It does that!" he exclaimed, pushing his friends to get them to flee again. "Go!"

Column after column fell behind them, old ceiling lamps going by as they ran, their glances at the rapidly approaching wave that had been going through the park getting increasingly frantic as it started to wash down the road at their side, devouring cars and trees and everything on its path.

"How did you escape last time?!" Adrien threw to the front of the group, the stone slabs turning into black and white lines right under their feet. "What did you do?!"

"We got lucky!" Alya and Nino shouted as one.

Adrien stole a glance at the Miraculous on his finger, a thought being spared to the kwami hiding on his pocket. __Luck.__ No, that was definitely not what was here.

"What happened?!" Adrien nevertheless pressed on, attention jumping from the back of Nino's head to Alya's curls.

Her too starting too fall behind, Alya looked his way.

"It was just odd!" she forced out between shallow breaths. "They were there one moment and then __left!__ I think they got distracted by something!"

Adrien could tell it without Alya having to struggle anything else out. They had been __distracted?__ Well, he was ready to bet the __something__ that had distracted them was Chat Noir! And considering Chat Noir was here right now—

Adrien wanted to groan. Just as he did, however, and for the second time in less than thirty minutes, it felt like he rammed into a wall. Only this time said wall wasn't Tom Dupain-Cheng's back, but Nino's and he had stopped so abruptly Adrien wasn't the only one falling, Alya was too and she had just grabbed at Adrien's shirt for balance, they were falling together, they were heading straight for the—

Adrien tossed his arms forward, the mad arm waving that ensued somehow ending with him grabbing hold of Nino just in time to stop himself and Alya from crashing into the floor—and to catch this very unfortunate glimpse of what had made Nino stop.

In front of the three of them, stepping out of the lines that now made the entirety of the galleries around them, rising from the ground, falling from the arched ceiling and even from the old ceiling lamps, were drawings. And they were gathering to block their escape into the street, they were surrounding them, leaving them stuck between them and a closed store. They were—

Adrien looked to the side, trading a quick glance with Alya, who was pretty much wedged sideways between him and Nino's hip, before both of them took a careful glance behind to find the drawings that were assembling there had, just like the ones up front, stopped.

They were moving.

They truly weren't moving.

And seeing that same shocked expression that had crossed the face of that old lady's drawing, the one that had captured him some minutes ago, cross the mass of former-people in front of him, Adrien bit into his lower lip.

In Nino's words, this was hell odd. What on earth was—?

Alya's fingers had just pressed around his arm, again glancing her way, Adrien found her slowly getting back to her feet.

"I don't think they want to approach us," Alya whispered into his ear. "Maybe we can get pass them."

Adrien pressed his lips, he nodded. A look being given around, towards the crowd surrounding them, towards the lines that made the columns and more importantly the street on the other side, he followed Alya's lead, he started to get back up.

 _ _"Nino,"__ she called out from behind Adrien. "Let's go."

Looking around, eyes wide with fear, Nino remained frozen. He did even as he spoke, words coming through the corner of his mouth.

"Nobody moves a muscle," he hissed at them, still as stiff as a board, his order leaving Adrien and Alya to stop in this impossibly uncomfortable positions while still holding on to him. "Everyone remain as they are."

Adrien swallowed hard, pain climbing up his leg, his increasingly displeased bruised ankle, the only one presently keeping him up, seeming to scream at him through the Miraculous to stop this nonsense __right now!__

"Give me one reason," Adrien pleaded, gazing ahead, right at the crowd of eerily immobile drawings standing under the arched ceilings, his fingers clinging to Nino's pajama sleeve. "Please, tell me it's a really good one."

Nino glanced down at him, his brown eyes the only things that moved.

"I found their weakness," he whispered, tone so sinister Adrien could swear he felt Alya fight the urge to turn her phone's camera on him.

"You did?" she whispered and judging by the direction her voice was coming, she had managed to get herself straighter than Adrien.

"Yeah," Nino remarked, again going to stare right ahead. "They react to __movement.__ "

There was no way Adrien could know with Alya standing to his back, but he hadn't been the only one who had just let his head fall. Alya had too.

"Well, they obviously don't react to __sound__ ," she observed in a whisper _ _.__ "Come on, Nino! They are waiting for something. __Or someone.__ We have to get out of here!"

She was probably right. Come to think of it, Adrien mused, Alya was definitely right. Still, the three of them were moving as much as the drawings. They remained frozen right to the side of the closed store, almost not daring to breathe until they __heard it,__ the thing, the person the drawings were waiting for. First, there were footsteps in the distance. And then, __then__ they saw a shadow move under the archways. A shadow that made Alya risk turn her cellphone towards the black charcoal smudge that mimicked the real darkness that had been there a minute ago.

"Dude—" Nino stuttered as she got herself to stand, a glance at the display in her hands, leaving him staring right ahead, incredulous. "Isn't that—?"

Slowly getting himself straight, going to stand just slightly apart from his friends, Adrien was seeing it too. It was right __there__ , walking down the galleries that spread in front of them, stepping towards the drawings that were blocking that side of their path. It was the silhouette of a—It was definitely a __man.__ A tall, elegant man with broad shoulders. And for a moment, a horrible, terrifying moment, Adrien thought all three of them had found a way of running straight into Hawkmoth. And then, __then__ the drawings stepped aside, they opened a path, allowing the man to step out of the darkness, to march passed them and to stand under the last remained light, menacing, dignified, imposing. And if Hawkmoth would be bad, this was a whole lot worse!

 _"_ _ ** **Father?!"****_ Adrien cried out.

The man came to an immediate halt, eyes widening, shock running through his face as he stood with the drawings to his back, white eyebrows raising in an arch.

" _ _Adrien,__ " he whispered and that was his father's voice , it was his father's face, but this wasn't—This __couldn't__ be—

The creature in front of him run his fingers over the locks of white and black hair that fell to his forehead, a horrible grin spreading over the grayish-white face as he did.

"I didn't get to show you my new collection last time," The Collector spoke.

Adrien's eyes widened, the notebook snapping open in his father's hands, it clearly being aimed at Alya and Nino, making him toss himself over his friends, making him send them crashing to the floor, just as the notebook cut the air above their heads.

"Run!" Adrien shouted, pulling Alya and Nino to their feet, pushing them towards the columns, towards the street, just as a familiar voice bummed among the columns.

 **"** _ ** **GET THEM!"****_

Adrien bit his lip, stomach in a knot more painful than the biting pain again climbing up his leg. The last glance he took behind him, passed the drawings jumping inside the lines and the slowly turning into charcoal building, allowed him a last glance of his father, of the Collector, gazing at him between the beige columns, his grin gone, before he become lost to Adrien.

 _ _Milady, I found out who was akumatized__ , Adrien thought as he, Nino and Alya run across the road and Ladybug swung by, the grimace marring her face as she grabbed all three of them and their feet were lift of the street, coming at the same time a horrible certainty took over Adrien's mind.

 _ _This is all my fault!__

Marinette

The terrace door closed slowly, the gloved fingers that kept the latch open carefully returning it to position before turning the key on the lock.

A shadow of relief going through her otherwise tense expression, Ladybug let her forehead rest against the door's white wood, the pain that was even now running up her right arm — the unsurprising result of having carried all three of her friends, at the same time, to safety — forcing her to press her shoulder.

If Marinette had been hoping the madness around her would subside for the pair of seconds it would take the pain on her arm to disappear, she found it coming back to play so fast she truly didn't even have time to catch a breath.

There, coming from the other side of the door her head was still resting against, was this rustle, a rustle that sounded a little too much like paper being hit by wind for comfort, and that made Marinette look up, straight at this small window on the door, and start to rise. Slowly, careful as not to be spotted, she peeked outside—and immediately dropped back down. Outside, standing just in the middle of the building's well-kept terrace, right to the side of this line of vases with flowers, was a person, a drawing, one of the many that were presently walking around.

Marinette had to press her lips together not to let out a groan. She knew she had being kind of complaining about seeing no one, including drawings, some minutes ago, but reality check! This was not good. This was not good at all! If this thing had seen her land here, if it had seen __her__ , then her friends—

Determination burned away the anxiety that had just made its way to Marinette's eyes. Looking up at the glass on the upper section of the door one last time, she dropped the lowest she could and moved away from the landing, stepping silently down the flight of stairs that had been behind her until she stopped with her back against the handrail, and looked at the top landing and the closed door she had left behind.

She honestly didn't know what she could do if, much like the drawing of her mother, the one outside decided to slide under the door. Regardless of that, however, Marinette pulled her yo-yo out, letting it sway like a pendulum at her side as she waited, and waited, and finally heard the rustling sound coming from outside move overhead, as if the drawing had been caught by the wind and was moving away.

Marinette sighed in relief, returning the yo-yo to her belt. There was something to be said about luck here, something that probably involved Tikki, the Miraculous and being Ladybug, but, leaning over the railing, taking a peek down the winding stairs, she would have to leave such considerations for another day.

Her friends had chosen to taken cover two floors below. They were standing on one of the landings, right next to one of the apartment's doors. From where she stood, high over them, seeing moonlight coming from this tall, narrow window that run the entire height of the building, Marinette could see them—well, she kind of could see the top of their heads, but that wasn't really important, when all three of them were here: Alya in her beige pajamas, her hair in this fearful curly mess; Nino in the blue shirt and white trousers Marinette's mother had found for him; Adrien in his blue pajamas, the underside to the bandages around his ankle and foot, the very same ones that for some reason were now a drawing, smudged from him walking around barefoot.

Looking at them, having to bite down the smile that had just filled her face, trying not to rush down the wooden stairway and to their side, Marinette found the little spring left on her stride disappear the moment she set foot on the landing her friends stood at and got a chance to take a real look at them.

Something was off. Marinette could tell it as clearly as if there were big flashing lights over all three of them and it all started with Alya.

Her best friend, who should have turned the same moment she heard Ladybug come down the stairs, that should have raised her phone to get a new scope for the Ladyblog, didn't even move. Alya had her phone in her hand, alright, the way the wooden floor boards and stairs were being shown on the display telling enough as to the fact the camera was on, but strangely she wasn't filming. And that was a bad enough sign without Nino standing to her side with a worried expression on his face, it was bad enough without Marinette turning to Adrien and finding him standing right in the middle of the small landing, right hand pressed over his mouth, eyes haunted.

"Dude, are you alright?" Nino whispered.

Adrien didn't seem to be listening. Closing his eyes, back going to lean against the handrail he didn't seem to even notice anyone else was here with him until Nino walked up to him and closed both his hands over his shoulders.

"Adrien?"

The hand Adrien had been covering his lips with fell to his side. A glance behind him, over the gap on the center of the stairs, towards the window running up the entire height of the building, and he dropped his eyes.

"This is all my fault," he whispered.

Stopping next to Alya, Marinette glanced at each of her friends in turn, the quiet _"_ _ _What happened?"__ that was just behind her lips, however, was left unsaid when Alya put her phone inside her pocket and stepped towards Adrien. Rather than saying whatever had been on her mind, however, she looked at Nino, who returned her gaze, seeming about as lost as her.

"Come on, dude," he nevertheless whispered, turning back to an increasingly pale Adrien, hands closing tighter around his shoulders. "You can't seriously be blaming yourself for __this.__ You are not the one with the butterflies!"

Right at his side, Alya took the cue, she nodded vigorously:

"Hawkmoth is the one who is to blame," she stressed, stepping closer to Adrien. "Not you."

"It's me," Adrien remarked and, the wooden floor whining under his feet, he stepped away from Nino, from Alya, from all of them, and started going down the stairs.

Watching Alya and Nino make this gesture to follow him and then stop right under the ceiling lamp none of them had made the mistake of turning on, Marinette glanced over the handrail still on time to see Adrien's blond head go down the stairs, and disappear on the landing right under them.

"What's wrong?" she queried, concern bringing her attention back up. "What happened?"

Trading a quick glance, Alya and Nino shook their heads.

"It's better if the dude tells you," Nino said, burying his hands into his pockets, clearly uncomfortable.

"Sorry, Ladybug," Alya whispered.

A new glance down, towards the stairs Adrien had just gone down of and Marinette did as they asked. She followed Adrien, and she found him just on the floor below, standing on the small landing opposite the one leading to the apartments, forehead leaning against the stairway window.

"Adrien?"

He didn't move, not even when Ladybug walked passed this giant yucca that was pulled against the wall at his side. He just stood there, staring vacantly at the building just across the street, at the black lines that were already starting to devour its top half.

"It's the Collector," he whispered.

Marinette's eyes widened, the not so distant memory of standing with her back against the wall of Adrien's bedroom, this fiend bearing Gabriel Agreste's face grinning as he prepared to swipe her inside his sketchbook, filling her mind in such a way she was looking towards the building across the street, watching one of its top windows being turned into lines.

"That's—?!"

She clenched her teeth, a single step back and she turned back towards the stairs, she ran up them, yo-yo being pulled out of her belt, the sound of her footsteps joined by her voice.

"Chat, I have no idea where you are, but I have to talk with you right now!" she spoke into the communicator. "I found some people running around, one of them is Adrien, you know that fashion designer's son? He said—!"

Ladybug's words faded, the determined cadence to her footsteps becoming slower and slower until it stopped altogether and she was left standing with her feet over this bright red doormat with a black cat, the chimes hanging from the ceiling lamp singing softly around her.

 _ _Adrien.__

Left hand reaching out for the stone handrail to her side, fingers closing over it, Marinette looked down. Adrien was still standing in front of the window, still with his forehead against the glass, still staring outside. He hadn't moved, not even a little bit and, taking her attention to the street, to the building he was watching being turned into a drawing, Marinette put the yo-yo back on her belt, she moved back down the stairs, she stopped only when she reached Adrien and was left staring at his back, teeth sinking into her lower lip.

What she was about to ask was really such a silly question, but she couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Are you alright?"

She had just startled Adrien. She knew she had when a shiver went down his back and he looked at her through the reflection, a strangely lifeless expression to his eyes.

"I thought you had left," she heard him say just before he turned, a huge smile being offered to her, voice enthusiastic. "You didn't come back for me, right? I'm fine!"

Marinette hands fell to her side, not even the mask covering her face being able to hide the way her expression had just saddened.

"Would everything still be fine," she asked. "If I was someone else?"

It might have been kinder not to have asked that. Adrien's smile wavered. It visibly did. For a moment, he stood with his back to the window doing little but struggle to keep it in place. Then, he shook his head.

"No," Adrien admitted, quietly, smile dying away. "It wouldn't."

And just like that he went to sit on the stairs behind Marinette, leaving her to stare after him.

"If I was someone else—" she dared asking, hands clasped in front of her. "Would you tell me?"

Marinette wanted to kick herself the same moment she heard herself speak. She wanted to kick herself even harder when Adrien brought his attention back up and was left there, sitting on the stairs, wide-eyed, and staring at her.

"Forget I said that," Marinette grumbled and immediately Adrien seemed to be jerked out of his shock, a chuckle actually making it across his lips.

"Wait! It's not that!" he said and he smiled, this time he actually did. "There is this person… A friend told me you looked like her. I thought he was messing with me, I just noticed he was right."

Marinette tilted her head, a nervous smile making its way to her masked face. Fidgeting, this feeling of danger ringing bells in her mind, telling her to change topic this very instant, she nevertheless found herself stepping closer to where Adrien on the stairs, curiosity — and hope, mostly it was hope — getting the best of her.

"Who is it?" she asked, one of the wood board groaning under her feet when she moved.

Adrien's smile become fonder.

"Nathalie."

Marinette came to a halt.

 _ _Oh—__

"You saw her once. Back at the house," Adrien went on to say, and again he smiled. It was a kind smile. A sad smile. "You wouldn't remember her."

Marinette shook her head.

"I remember her," she said. And she might be a bit disappointed. Just a little bit. "She is your father's assistant, right?"

The smile on Adrien's face seemed to freeze the same moment finding out she did remember Nathalie caused it soften. His eyes widening he jumped back to his feet, a rather pronounced limp breaking his stride as he rushed for the window, gaze darting back outside.

"She must be here," he whispered. "She must be a drawing too."

Stealing a glance at a building that was mostly lines now, Marinette stepped towards Adrien.

"Maybe she managed to escape," she offered.

Her words were met with an head shake.

"Nathalie would never run away," Adrien whispered, his voice becoming quieter, eyes dropping to the floor—and then jumping back up, relief finding its way back to his face. "At least, I know Marinette is fine!"

Marinette's heart fluttered.

"Marinette?" she repeated.

"She is a friend," Adrien clarified. "I saw Chat Noir go by with her some time ago."

Marinette hadn't been questioning how he knew that. She had been far too bewildered — she had been far too __happy__ — that Adrien did remember her to focus on anything else. But that was the thing. She __had been__. Up until Adrien looked at her, with that smile, and everything she felt was replaced with guilt. Adrien was worried, and she— _ _she—__

Marinette stepped forward, furious at herself.

"I promise Nathalie will be fine. And your father," she said, the memory of standing in her room facing the empty eyes of a drawing leaving Marinette with her fists clenched. __And Mom__ , she added, right hand moving to point towards the window and the drawn lines creeping at the other side of the street. "Me and Chat Noir will fix all of this!"

There wasn't the slightest shadow of doubt in the way Adrien looked at her.

"I know you will," he said and with that he went back to the drawing outside. "But it is the second time something like this happens and it's always because of me. Father—"

Sadness took over Adrien's eyes, a soft head shake and he turned his back on the window, going back to sit on the stairs. Silent, he took his phone out of one of his pockets and went to stare at a small group of messages on the display.

Still looking at him, the wave of anger that had made her speak out just seconds ago sizzling out, Marinette couldn't help but drop her eyes, attention going to rest on the tip of her right foot, on the way it moved back and forth over the narrow wood boards of the floor.

This was silly for sure. The only thing she did every time she got a chance to be around Adrien was stumbling and falling and not making any sense, and yet she wished, she really really wished, she was herself right now.

"Adrien—"

"I have to help him."

Marinette blinked, Adrien's words, following by a pair of bare feet going by her forcing her to look up still in time to see him march for the stairs on the other side of the landing. For a moment, a moment of pure bewilderment, Marinette did nothing but stare after him, watching Adrien's head go lower and lower as he went down each step. It wasn't until he was on the landing opposite her, the one with the doors to the apartments, that Marinette's brain started to work again and she was not so much running down the stairs as jumping over the handrail to catch up to him.

"Adrien!" she exclaimed and, her feet hitting the flight of stairs Adrien was now at, she reached out out to grab his arm, forcing him to stop. "You can't go out there! The Collector is dangerous!"

She should never have said that. No matter how true it was. Adrien had just turned. He was one step below her, looking straight at her, they were eye to eye, and Nino could say Adrien looked like Gabriel Agreste when angered all he wanted, to Marinette, right now, Adrien resembled someone she didn't know, someone altogether more terrifying.

"The Collector is __my Father,__ " she heard Adrien hiss, the moonlight coming from the stairway window behind him turning him into this shadow with golden blond hair and fiery green eyes. "I was never afraid of him. I'm not starting __now!"__

"Adrien!"

He was off. Moving away from her. Marching across the landing. Going down another flight of stairs.

Marinette in no way needed to see him reach the atrium and open the building's front door to know what Adrien intended to do. He was going outside. He was marching down the maze of streets leading back to Place des Vosges. And, her left hand sliding down the handrail, running after him before he managed to find the Collector and get hurt, Marinette could feel her stomach turning itself into knots.

First, Chat Noir went around jumping into things without a plan. And now Adrien stormed off! Why was everyone so reckless today?!

 **Adrien**

"Adrien!" Ladybug called out, her voice rushing down the stairs alongside her rapid footsteps. "Adrien, wait!"

Adrien didn't answer, the anger that had replaced the numbness he had been feeling, leading his attention not to her, but to the white Miraculous resting on his finger, fury boiling from his chest.

This— _ _This damn thing!__ It had been giving him bad feelings for days! It had made him go around with this horrible sensation of imminent disaster! It had gone so far as to make him believe something was wrong with his father! But now, __now__ that something really happened to him, now that he needed help, it didn't feel the need to warn him?! Why hadn't it told him about this?! Why was it silent _**_now?!_**_

" _ _Adrien!"__

Turning on the first floor landing, stepping on the first of the last two flights of stairs leading to the dark atrium, Adrien could see Ladybug go by him while running down the flight of stairs he had just left.

"What are you going to do?!" she cried over the handrail.

Adrien turned to his left, going by the building's window once again, the atrium—one entirely made of elegant dark stone—opening in front of him.

"We have to have a plan!" Ladybug insisted despite his silence, the louder than usual sound to her footsteps seeming to say she had just jumped over the handrail once again to catch up to him. "You can't just stroll up to The Collector and hope for the best!"

Adrien clenched his fists.

"Look—" he snapped, and stopped that very moment, a phantom touch to the back of his head, his father's __voice__ rising right at his side, making his feet grind to a halt just as they hit the atrium's stone slabs, just as he tasted the first of the angry words he had been about to toss at Ladybug.

" _ _Do you want to say that?"__ his father's voice queried and it took everything Adrien had not to look back, not to make sure he wasn't really here, with them in the atrium. _"_ _ _Do you really want to say it?"__

Adrien closed his eyes. When he opened them again it was to find Ladybug in front of him, fingers pressed to his chest, the door he had been trying to reach some meters behin her back.

"I am going with you," she spoke, determined.

Adrien could do little but let his shoulders drop.

"Look," he whispered and he hesitated for a moment. Two. For as long as he needed to be sure what he was about to say wasn't hurtful in any away. "I know Father acted grateful last time you helped him and I'm sure he was. But that doesn't mean he likes you. Or Chat Noir. Or __anyone__. If you go out there with me when he is like __that—__ "

Adrien found himself biting his lower lip, eyes on Ladybug's bright blue ones.

 _ _I don't want you to get hurt__ , he wanted to tell her. __I don't want Father to get hurt.__

But that wasn't what he said. Instead, Adrien hit the switch on the wall at his side and stepped to the side, trying to go around Ladybug, when, with a buzz, the front door unlocked.

"It is better I go alone," Adrien announced.

Ladybug had just pinched her lips hard. She was crossing her arms and striding passed the mailboxes in the stone wall to her side, she was striding right in front of him to plant herself firmly between Adrien and the door.

"What's your plan?" she demanded to know, the door clicking shut behind her when she leaned her back against it. "What are you going to do?"

There was no escape. No way Adrien could move passed her, open the front door, step out of the building and avoid having to answer that. There was absolutely no way out of here and the truth was—

"I have no idea."

Ladybug pulled herself away from the door with his words, she stepped his way, again going by the mailboxes and stopped right in front of him.

"Then, we work out something together," she said, her bright red clothes a sharp contrast to the dark walls around her. "When you saw your father, are you sure he had been turned into the Collector, right?"

Adrien blinked. Was he sure—?

"It looked like him," he launched himself into saying, only for doubt to immediately creep into his voice. "I mean, kind of."

In fact, now that he thought about it, Adrien was left frowning. He could see the Collector as clearly as if he was here now, but he didn't look anywhere as composed as the Collector he remembered. Father's short hair fell loose over his forehead rather than being pulled back. He wore no glasses. Also—

Adrien's thoughts were brought to a stop by a sharp prick to his chest. A look down, towards the chest pocket of his pajamas, towards the place where Plagg was hiding, showed him a pair of alarmed green eyes and a small hand that was pointing his attention behind Ladybug.

Adrien snapped his head up, looking right over her head, towards the glass on the top half of the front door, towards the place where Plagg had just pointed his attention towards.

He did it right on time.

Outside, creeping down the sidewalk and straight for the door was this weirdly shaped shadow. A drawing. And had it stepped even a meter closer, it would have gotten a clear view of them before Adrien and Ladybug had time to run all the way back to the stairway and hide on the first floor.

"He couldn't do this the last time, could he?" Adrien whispered, the reflection on the building's window letting him see the drawing walking passed the front door as he and Ladybug peeked over the handrail. "Turning people and everything else into drawings. The Collector couldn't do that."

Ladybug frowned. Striding all the way across the landing, she sat, back against one of the apartments' doors, and started tapping her fingers against the floor.

"Did he have a sketchbook with him?" she suddenly asked. The question made Adrien's expression harden.

"Yeah," he confirmed, now dropping to sit behind the handrail. "He tried to get Alya and Nino inside it."

Ladybug nodded.

"That's the Collector," she said and she crossed her arms, still leaning against the apartment door. "That book was where the akuma was last time. It must still be there, I just have to get the sketchbook and force it out."

Ladybug stopped for a moment, attention running up and down Adrien's expression, eyes like blue fire.

"You said he attacked Alya __and__ Nino," she noted, eyebrows drawing closer. "He didn't go after you?"

Adrien shrugged.

"He didn't seem to want to," he said and stopped, the memory of the drawings coming to a stop around him, Alya and Nino, of the shocked expression on the drawing that had captured him, of it __releasing__ him, making his eyebrows jumped.

"He doesn't want to," Adrien whispered and he looked at Ladybug, he leaned in her way. "He __doesn't__ want to."

Ladybug had just crouched, one hand laying open on the floor in front of her.

"Do you think you can distract him?"

Adrien took a deep breath.

 _ _Distract him?__

His fists tightened over his knees, pressing the blue fabric of his pajamas.

"I can," Adrien spoke, looking straight back at where Ladybug was, the hand she held against the floor had just clenched into a fist. "You can take that book?"

That question—It wasn't that he doubted that Ladybug could. He just needed to hear her say it. He needed to see Ladybug pinch her lips and look at him, eyes ablaze with confidence.

"I will take it," she promised.

He needed to hear her say that to do what he did next.

 **"** _ ** **Father!"****_

The word sent a ripple through the drawing that was Place des Vosges, the black charcoal lines trembled, the trees shivered, the buildings themselves becoming distorted for a moment before the ripple came back, weakened and faded into the lines.

Entering the park through its still real side, bare feet moving down gravel paths until they sank into the cold wet grass of one of the flowerbeds, Adrien stopped with the boundary between drawing and reality just a few meters in front of him. Giving a vigilant glance around him, attention moving between old-fashioned metal benches and trash cans, between carefully cut green edges and naked trees, and from there to their far more sophisticated, but colorless twins on the drawn side of the park, Adrien crossed his arms, a look of impatience going through his eyes.

"I know you are here!" he said to the empty park.

Again a ripple went over the drawing. Again Adrien looked around half-expecting to see the Collector descend from one of the rooftops or stride across the park. Reality was, however, that Adrien never got a chance to see where he came from. He had just looked back, frowning at the sound of footsteps he thought he heard from the path behind him, and when he turned to the drawing in front of him the Collector stood there. He stood there, sketchbook in hand, black and white locks of hair falling to his forehead and with flowering bushes to his back, looking like he himself had risen out from the drawing—the same drawing the people he had transformed were even now jumping out of as they moved to flank him.

"This is unexpected," the Collector whispered, eyebrows knitting as he looked at Adrien, his lips parting like he wished to say something more. It took him a long moment to actually do so. "I believe I instructed you to hide, son."

Adrien crossed his arms.

"Not from you."

The same shiver that had gone through the park, seemed to find its echo in the Collector's eyes. Looking away as if to flee, some painful emotion Adrien couldn't quite understand left on his face, The Collector looked passed the drawings around him and towards the trees and the shrubs, he turned to look at the carousel and the fountain that were in the distance, cut against the buildings towards the back.

"You are alone?" he queried, looking over his shoulder, attention back to Adrien.

Adrien had to stop himself from swallowing, from allowing his expression to tell the truth.

"Yeah, I am alone," he said, and he too looked around, mimicking the Collector's movement and frowning, like he didn't understand what he was supposed to be searching for. He came back to The Collector to find this grimace going through his expression and then fading, leaving him to gaze at him, something that looked a little too much like suspicion on his gray eyes.

"What are you doing here?" the Collector probed.

Adrien found himself staring right at him. This time around, his behavior was no act.

"What I am doing?" Adrien blurted out, incredulous, eyes going straight for the crowd of transformed people around the Collector and then straight back at him. "What are __you__ doing?"

The Collector raised his eyebrows, he blinked, gazing right back at Adrien as if surprised he didn't understand.

"Keeping you safe."

Adrien's lips parted, before he could speak, however, a flash of red appeared on one of the green trees to Adrien's left, there was this whistle, the sound of cable unwinding, and, for a moment, seeing Ladybug's yo-yo rush across the park, seeing The Collector's drawings scatter, The Collector himself snapping his head towards the red blotch on the trees and the yo-yo that was rushing at him, Adrien held his breath. It was close. It was so so close, he dared to hope—

And then everything that could go wrong proved to have been going wrong from the very start.

The chaos of the scattering drawings was actually a very organized retreat. The Collector had not so much stumbled while stepping away from the yo-yo's path as danced away from it, and he was reaching for the cable, he was—

 _ _No!__

The cable had just wrapped around the Collector's arm, he had just given it a vicious pull and just like that Ladybug was sent flying out of her hiding place, she was sent flying right for the Collector, right for the sketchbook he had just opened and the transformed people that were rushing back to his side. Adrien felt his mouth run dry. If he didn't do something, if he didn't think of something right now—!

 _ ** **"Dad!"****_

His cry broke through to the Collector. There was this moment, a split second when the gray eyes glanced around, frantic, searching for him, and that moment of distraction was all Ladybug needed to get away, to whip the yo-yo in such a way that she crashed to the floor, that she could pull herself and the yo-yo free from the Collector's grasp and ran back to Adrien's side.

That she was here, however, made little to no difference. Rising to his full height, massaging the yo-yo's cable had wrapped around of, The Collector was not looking at her, but at Adrien. He was looking at him just like his father used too, back when his eyes didn't flee from him every chance they got. He was looking at him like Adrien was an open book, like he could see right through him and before Adrien even thought about what he was doing he dropped his eyes. It was all it took. It was all the Collector needed to be sure.

"You knew she was here," he whispered, and it seemed to break his heart that Adrien had. That hurt a lot more than if he had been angry. It really made it feel like __this__ was still somehow his father.

"I'm just trying to help you," Adrien whispered, forcing himself to raise his eyes from the green grass under his bare feet and face the Collector again. He would have given anything, __anything,__ for him to understand. "You have to stop."

Walking to the threshold of his drawing, footsteps making no sound as they hit the black and white lines around him, the Collector stopped right at the boundary between it and the real world, the people he had transformed left behind.

"No," he replied, looking straight at Adrien. "I have to keep you __safe__ and when I finish you will be. If I have to reinvent everything in this city to accomplish that."

The Collector snapped his sketchbook open with those words, he turned it to the floor, the black lines that cascaded from inside going to grab the ones of the drawing he stood on. The world started to change right that instant, the lines that made it turning sharper, twisting themselves to the Collector's will.

Gazing around, horrified with the way the trees were bursting up towards the sky, with the way the distant carousel was turning into this sophisticated piece of art, with all that was happening, Ladybug turned to him in a fury.

"You think you are protecting your son?!" she shouted and stopped, just like she had just heard her own words, just like she understood what they meant.

"You want to protect your son," she repeated, looking at the Collector, at his sketchbook, at the changing lines of his world—and then at Adrien, at the bandages around his foot. "That was how Hawkmoth got you."

Fingers squeezing the yo-yo she still held on her hand, Ladybug took a single step closer to where the Collector stood, that strange pained grimace going through his face as the lines falling from the sketchbook kept twisting the world to his will.

"You won't hear the world isn't dangerous from me," she told him, a vigilant look being given to the people the Collector had transformed, to the way they were again moving to flank him. "If it wasn't then Ladybug—She wouldn't need to exist."

Adrien gazed at Ladybug's back, her silence, the way she went to touch her earrings like she was afraid they were just a wonderful dream, leaving him to drop his eyes to his own Miraculous. When Adrien rose his attention back up a moment later, however, Ladybug was looking around, towards the changing buildings, towards the drawings flanking the Collector, towards the Collector himself.

"I know the world isn't what any of us would want it to be," Ladybug told him. "But what you are doing—You can't really believe your son would want a world were no one is themselves."

Ladybug fell silent, her gaze saddening as she looked from the drawings to the Collector.

"Not even you."

The Collector's shoulders grew tense, immediately his eyes darted towards Adrien. They found him with his hand outstretched, a pleading note to his voice.

"Please, Father," he said. "Give me that book."

A gush of wind broke through the park. The rustling of leaves mixed with the wobbling sound of paper. Until now standing at the Collector's side, the people he had turned into drawings looked his way and started to recede, to enter the lines on the floor, they started to stream towards the lines connecting the Collector's sketchbook to his imagined world and just as they did, the park itself started to change: the trees shrank, twisting back to their original size; the fountains and the benches and even the buildings slowly went to look like themselves again. The world was looking more and more the way it should be—and it might as well be their only change.

"Father," Adrien pleaded, and this time he stepped forwards, panic rushing through his mind when his ankle failed and the Collector looked down, straight at the drawing of bandages around his foot. "Please, let me help you!"

The Collector's fingers dug into the sketchbook's cover, his hand closing like a claw around it. Still, for how much it looked like he might never let it go, Adrien could see the Collector's resolve faltering. It was in the way he was not looking at him anymore. In the way, his eyes skidded over the drawings of trees and fountains and shrubs without him seeing any of them. It was written all over him, it was as obvious as day and judging by the way Ladybug's eyes had just sharpened, by the way she had ceased to hold her silence, so did she. She was at Adrien's side now, open palm held over her heart.

"You don't have to worry, Sir," she told the Collector, her words serious, honest. "I will keep your son safe."

It all came to a stop.

 _ _All of it.__

The world froze. The transformed people, the same ones that had been one by one entering the lines under them, stopped moving, the two that had been about to reenter the sketchbook pulling their torsos out of the lines that hanged from there. Standing on the threshold to this halfway point between the city he had idealized and the sketch of what Place des Vosges truly looked like, the Collector himself blinked, eyebrows raised in an arch.

"Y-You?" he stammered, looking up and down Ladybug's face, the red gleam flashing through his eyes, giving them back their focus, almost making it look like he was waking up, like he was looking at Ladybug for the very first time.

" _ _You,"__ the Collector growled, venomously.

Adrien felt his heart fall.

"Father, __please!"__ he exclaimed, trying to get the Collector's attention away from Ladybug. "Give me that book!"

It was the same as nothing. Tempestuous gray eyes were burying themselves into Ladybug's bright blue ones, in one swift gesture the Collector closed his sketchbook, he broke the lines that fell from there and stepped away from the drawing surrounding him, he marched into the real world, a muscle jumping on his jaw.

" _ _You will keep him safe,__ " the Collector spoke and he seemed to get taller with each step, with each word. "Tell me, _**_bug_**_ , how do you intend to do __that?"__

A step too close and Ladybug jumped in front of Adrien, she put herself directly between him and the approaching Collector, yo-yo twirling at her side and she—She understood her mistake a moment too late.

" **No!** " Ladybug gasped, yo-yo falling to her side, the hand that had flown to cover her mouth now being held between herself and the Collector. "I didn't mean—!"

Adrien wouldn't have time to get anything out, he wouldn't have time to step forward, to get himself between Ladybug and the Collector, to make a last desperate bid to solve this out. Ladybug was looking straight at the Collector's eyes and she must have seen something there Adrien didn't. She must have seen __something__ for she had just stepped back, she was tossing her yo-yo towards one of the buildings outside the park, she was grabbing Adrien by the waist and just like that the two of them were fleeing, they were leaving the park, the drawings and everything else left behind.

"What are we doing?!" Adrien exclaimed, incredulous, bushes and trees and the metallic grates of the park rushing under his bare feet, the Collector getting smaller and smaller behind them. "We can't just leave him!"

"We have to get away from him!"

Adrien looked up and down Ladybug's tense expression, then back at the park, to where the Collector stood, eyes glued to Ladybug's back. Adrien had no idea what was happening. The only thing he knew was that gloved fingers were digging into a black sketchbook, that red eyes gleamed, their grayish color entirely gone, and in that moment, the Collector, this fiend wearing his father's face that was rational and scheming and one hundred per cent cold intellect, this creature that prided itself on being in control just as much as his father did, __snapped.__

He completely __snapped__.

 **Nooroo**

The long black hair Nooroo had been holding between his hands slipped from his grasp, lock after lock flowing through his fingers as he stared right ahead, the unhinged wave of emotion running through his mind leaving him as if frozen, blind even to the pale young woman that was crouched in front of him, that was even now looking away from the closet she had been searching through, the distress her face didn't show clear in the way her hand clawed around the red and golden scarf she was wearing and the Miraculous hidden by it.

"What happened?"

Marinette's pink room fell away, the walls blowing away like leaves, everything in it disappearing like it hadn't existed in the first place. Falling inside his own mind and then deeper, through the connection linking him to the akuma, Nooroo found himself on the street, jumping over the park's high grates, running by parked cars, stepping into the drawing infused with an akuma's power, the black and white lines that surrounded him responding to his will.

"Nooroo," a distant voice called out. _"_ _ _Nooroo."__

Nooroo had no idea if he answered. He had no idea if he still knew who Nooroo was for he stood on Place des Vosges and all he knew was pain and rage, all that mattered was to hunt down the girl swinging from street lamp to antenna, disappearing behind the black rooftops, all that mattered was getting back what she stole!

"What is happening?" a distant female voice asked.

The lines around the Collector's feet twisted without him paying that voice any heed, they burst up under him, propelling him up towards the sky. He landed on the roof Ladybug had disappeared on with Adrien and in a rage, barely hearing the black tiles clinking under his feet, he climbed all the way up the incline, he marched passed a tall beige chimney, he stopped only when he found Ladybug standing on the other side. Alone.

"Where is he?!" The Collector roared.

Ladybug didn't answer. Instead, she twirled her yo-yo and tossed it at the sketchbook, she tried time and time again to get it, to best him, to get the upper hand in their spar, before clenching her teeth and deciding to retreat, her yo-yo being tossed towards the park so she could flee.

"You have to talk to me," the far away female voice, Nathalie's voice, insisted.

But, again, the Collector paid it no heed.

Ladybug had retreated just as his vision started to swim, rooftops and chimneys and the distant city lights were all coming together, Ladybug herself turning into nothing but a red blur. She had retreated just as his knees hit the tiles and the world disappeared. He couldn't __see__. The world was black, entirely black. And then it crashed back into him in one single swipe. He was still on the rooftops, there were drawn tiles under him now and the lines falling from the sketchbook were attached to them, they were stretching over the park so he could keep pursuing Ladybug, but as they did they shivered, they fell—

The Collector was struggling to his feet.

It didn't matter.

He didn't care.

The person behind the voice he could hear inside his mind, however, the person who seemed to be calling to him— _ _did.__

"What is going on?" Nathalie asked, and for a moment, for just a moment, the Collector thought he could see her, for a moment when she reached forward it felt like she was holding his face. "Nooroo."

An electricity bolt went through the Collector's mind, lost inside the storm of his thoughts, the faceless entity who called himself Nooroo had just got hold of his scattered self—

"Nooroo, what is going on?"

—he was looking around and what he saw through his akuma froze him to the core.

Ladybug had just aimed for one of the few real streetlamps on the park, the whiplash from her yo-yo going through her body as she forced the cable to quickly retract and she dropped, rolled on the grass and started to run down one of the paths.

Looking down at her, the tiles he stood on stretching forwards, the Collector stepped onto the path he was imagining, this path that went over the real half of Place des Vosges, attention locked on to Ladybug's back.

He might have caught up to her, he might have, but the drawing around him was falling apart, struggling to keep up with his vision. The path, the bridge, all was disappearing, it was disappearing from right under The Collector's feet and under him— _ _A void.__ A void was opening right under—

 _ _Master!__

Nooroo reached forward, grabbed hold of the creature his holder had turned himself into and pulled him back with as much strength as he could. The Collector fell backwards. His back hit the drawn tiles of the building where he had stood just some seconds ago. Panting, weaving the Collector got back up as the bridge fell apart, drawn lines raining over Place des Vosges, he got back up to see a ripple go through the drawn half of the park, to see it lose everything he had imagined, he got back to look around at the buildings, at the streets and to find Ladybug had gone. She was nowhere to be found. And Nooro could feel the explosion of anger right before the connection inside his mind was ripped open.

"You—" his holder's voice growled, furious. _"_ _ ** _You will keep yourself out of this!_**_ _ _"__

Nooroo flinched, he backed away, bumping into the fingers that were right behind his wings as the connection was slammed shut on him and the world outside closed itself into Marinette's bedroom, into her bunk bed and cabinets and stuffed animals. The world closed in and it was just Nooroo here, Nooroo and Nathalie, who was kneeling on the floor, her hands forming a kind of nest under him.

"What happened?" she insisted, deep blue eyes searching Nooroo's. "What is going on?"

Nooroo told her. About Ladybug. About Adrien. About everything. But through his fear, that wasn't at all what he was concerned about.

"Master shouldn't be out there," Nooroo whispered, looking through the connection, voice tremulous. "He shouldn't be fighting."

Nathalie's teeth bit into her lower lip, she glanced at the round window over where they stood, and just like that got to her feet, the fingers that until now had been holding Nooroo moving to pick him up, to put him over the soft fabric of her red blouse as she moved around the room, marching straight to Marinette's mirror and the bowl under it.

"Should I call the akuma?" Nooroo queried right as Nathalie's fingers fished a black hair tie from the bowl. "I can't do it unless the Lady orders me to."

Now pulling her hair up, twisting it into a knot, Nathalie looked his way.

"Who is with him?" she asked, that single lock of hair that always insisted on falling to her forehead returning to its place. "The Collector. Is there anyone with him?"

The walls fell away again. The connection opened. Careful as not to have his presence noticed, Nooroo peeked through.

"Ladybug is there," he informed, upon seeing her slid down a roof and again trying to aim her yo-yo at the sketchbook, trying to get to the akuma. "I can't see Master's son—"

Nooroo dared to open the connection a bit more, searching around the rooftops and the park he could catch glimpses of.

"He isn't there," he whispered, coming back to the bedroom, to the large mirror that was in front of him and the blue eyes that were facing him. "He must have fled, Ladybug is the only one—"

Nathalie had just closed her eyes. The relief Nooroo could feel taking over her mind was short-lived, however. Something sharper had just buried it, her fingers were closing over the scarf she was wearing, the one his holder had given her, and seeing her start to take it off, Nooroo let go of her shoulder, he flew to stand in front of her.

"Lady, __please__ ," he pleaded, a nervous flutter going through his wings, the delicate drawings in them reflected on the mirror to his back. "If Master won't listen __she__ must. Nothing good ever came from putting those two Miraculous together. Nothing good ever will."

Nathalie's expression hardened:

"Good is a very relative term."

"No, it is not!" Nooroo replied and diving to grab her hand, he rose back up to float in front of her, holding her fingers.

" _ _Please,"__ Nooroo begged, pressing Nathalie's fingers. "Please, Lady. We are not meant to make people suffer. Miraculous are meant to __protect—__ "

A small tremor went over Nathalie's fingers, that same moment they slipped from Nooroo's grasp, falling away so they would close over the scarf. The fabric slid down her shoulders like water, flowing down her chest until it hanged from her hand and she stood in front of Nooroo, the amethyst-like stone of his Miraculous gleaming from her chest.

"Nooroo," she spoke, serene, her eyes never leaving his. "Dark wings rise."

Nooroo's eyes widened, a last pleading _"_ Please, Lady, __don't!"__ echoing in Marinette's bedroom before a burst of light filled the space and the quiet inside Nathalie's mind shattered, a butterfly-shaped line of light being drawn around her eyes.

" _ _Enfin!__ _"_ the Collector snapped, furious, Gabriel's voice, only so rage-filled it had become almost unrecognizable, bursting directly inside her head. "What kept you so long?!"

Bathed by the moonlight, Gabriel's scarf being wrapped around her shoulders, the Painted Lady stepped towards the bedroom's round window. Eyes falling on her own reflection, following the long line of buttons going from her short dress high neckline to the slit over her left leg, she reached within, grabbed hold of the akuma she could feel in the distance and watched the room around her fade into trees and bushes and what was left of the red buildings around Place des Vosges.

"It isn't important," she told the Collector and even if Nathalie's voice was different, even it made her sound like someone else entirely, the Painted Lady's words wrapped around him. "I'm with you now."

They did, even as pain took over her heart.

"Everything will be fine."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

First of all. Thank you for your comment, **Agiani**!

And, second. Hello again, everyone. New chapter here :) If anyone had been out there wondering who was the Painted Lady from the title, well... here she is and there is plenty of her next part. (If anyone is curious about the name choice, painted ladies are red and black butterflies, it seemed fitting.)

But hey, I actually managed to keep my publishing dates for once! *swollen with misguided pride* Up next is the last part of the Painted Lady and I will try to keep the two week publishing schedule, so I will try my best to bring it to you on May 11th/12th. And after that, a new chapter will start :)

See you around!


	9. The Painted Lady - Part 6

**The Painted Lady**

(part 6)

 **Nathalie**

"What is it like?" Nathalie had once queried, the words slipping the shackles of her control as she closed the atelier's door and turned to find not Gabriel, but Hawkmoth looking over the dark water of the reservoir back home, the dull gleam to his eyes making him look as distant as all those times she would see him return from the Observatory, as defeated as if the woman he fought for was not on the chateau on the upper level of the garden, sick but awake, laughing alongside Adrien and the music flowing out of her bedroom window.

"What is it like?" Nathalie remembered asking, her voice so quiet it didn't find an echo on the Observatory's dome, that the sound of the slowly moving circle of butterflies was enough to drown her words, that she was surprised Gabriel had heard her at all and that he turned, the silver mask that covered his face doing nothing to hide his exhaustion as his eyes lingered on her face.

"You don't care about that," Hawkmoth had noted and at that he had pulled the Miraculous away from his purple shirt, he pulled it until it came off, he pulled it until this light washed over the Observatory and it was Gabriel, not Hawkmoth, who there stood there with her. "You don't care about these."

"No," Nathalie had agreed, attention never leaving the grayish-blue eyes that were looking at the Miraculous, that glared at it like they wished for nothing more than the strength to flung it against the metal wall. "I don't."

But still she hadn't moved, still she remained with him, still she reached out again.

"What is it like?"

The butterfly that had been on Gabriel's shoulder took flight, it rose up and up the Observatory's dome and then it fell, down and down until it landed on her hand and the familiar weightless sensation seemed to reach out through time itself to the place, in the present, where the Painted Lady stood, where she opened her eyes to find a small white butterfly had just landed on her fingers and that her quiet question from all those months ago was again on her lips.

"What is it like?"

The butterfly looked back at her with curiosity, pale grey eyes sprinkled with blue locking with hers, their coloring looking so much like that of the man The Painted Lady could still see in her mind, that a sad smile touched her lips.

Just like the silent butterfly now resting on her gloved fingers, Gabriel hadn't answered, not the first time back in the Loire, not the second already in Paris, and Nathalie had never worked up the courage to put her concern into words one more time, she had never found the right moment or the right place, and it wasn't until now, while cold air hit her face and a sea of black-tiled rooftops stretched around her, until the Miraculous that had been on Gabriel's chest pulsed against hers, that Nathalie finally understood why he had never spoken, why he couldn't, why he kept his silence every time least he was forced to answer her concern with a lie—or worse yet, with the truth.

The Miraculous—

The butterfly that was resting on Nathalie's fingers took flight before she could finish that thought, it flew so fast to her left it looked like it was warning her and without a second thought Nathalie turned to the part of the city that spread to her side, attention running over the terraces and rooftops, her eyebrows almost immediately drawing together with worry.

A black arrow was going by one of the many patches of reality that sprinkled the Collector's drawing, the transformed people that walked the streets, making the charcoal lines advance, were being blasted up into the air as it went by, as it aimed straight at this group of drawn rooftops from where Ladybug had just escaped—from where the Collector had just jumped into the lines to pursue her.

"Chat Noir is heading your way," the Painted Lady warned, the drawings of kitchens and living rooms and corridors filling her mind as the Collector run down them. "He took his time."

Turning to his left, the walls falling to his passage leading him straight into this old-fashioned living, the Collector scoffed.

"Good," he snapped, anger burning through the connection, his eyes so firmly set on Ladybug as she swung by the elegant row of windows to his left that the girl and her red suit were all Nathalie's mind could see. "We can get this over with now that her _pet_ is here!"

The Collector ripped straight through the lines that made the closest window, his appearance so sudden Ladybug barely had time to look his way, to make head or tails of where he had come from before, before she pulled the yo-yo, releasing it from the chimney it had been wrapped around and risked the void under her.

Maybe it was luck, maybe not, but she did so just as Chat Noir appeared on the street and immediately catapulted himself upwards with his staff. Catching her mid fall, reaching her just before the Collector did, Chat Noir landed on a nearby terrace, the Collector so close behind that, Ladybug still on his arms, Chat Noir had not choice but to keep running while carrying her, an absolutely disbelieving look being thrown at the Collector every time Chat Noir glanced over his shoulder.

"What happened?!" he cried out, feet going over the old and very dirty slabs on the terrace as he run. "Why are his eyes like that?!"

"That's my fault!" Ladybug straight up said, her admission perplexing Chat Noir so much he actually stopped looking back.

"How is that your fault?!" he exclaimed.

Anger flared through the Miraculous on Nathalie's chest, a sizzling hot rod seeming to have been driven straight into her brain as she frowned at Ladybug from two angles: the one offered to her mind by the Collector's eyes — the one where she could only see Ladybug's legs, dangling over Chat Noir's left arm — and the one given to her by her vantage point over the rooftops, one that was so close to the ongoing pursuit, she could see the way Ladybug had just clenched her fingers around her yo-yo.

"I got too confident when I should have kept my mouth shut!" Ladybug snapped. "It wasn't as if I didn't know this could happen!"

Chat Noir's emotions as just went from confused to alert.

"You have seen this before?!"

"Evillustrator!"

Chat Noir had just reached the edge of the building, he had jumped into the vacuum and by doing so he seemed to have given Ladybug the chance to use her yo-yo again. She aimed it down, towards one of the last real trees in the park that had opened in front of them, and, if just a moment ago Chat Noir had been the one carrying her, now it was her that carried him, the wide swing of the cable taking them away from the rooftops, from the Collector, just as he came to a stop on the terrace and reached out through the connection, eyes trailing the fleeing teenagers.

"Which one?" he asked Nathalie.

The Painted Lady tilted her head, her fingers very softly pinching her leg through the dark stockings she was wearing, trying to use the feeling to see passed the Collector's own emotions, passed the emotions of an entire city, that phrase Chat Noir's appearance had not allowed her to finish now back on her mind.

The Miraculous—Yes, there was no doubt, it was overwhelming. And through storm of emotions, through the images blasting inside her mind, through that part of herself that tried to find some way to stop this, Nathalie might have just reached the same conclusion Gabriel had made his peace with months ago. In the midst of all of this, it was easier to talk than to think—to talk was the only way she could think.

"Chat Noir feels unhinged," Nathalie therefore mused, fingers pressed around the cane, her attention glued to Chat Noir's back as both him and Ladybug dropped and rolled as they landed on the real part of Place des Vosges. "Something has disturbed him, his emotions are everywhere, if anyone is going to make a mistake, it's him."

The Collector snapped his sketchbook open with her words.

"Keep an eye on the drawing," he spoke.

Nathalie closed her eyes, forcing herself to step away from the connection and to look around like he instructed, to survey the lines that were creeping up the buildings, that consumed each door and window, each tile and chimney. It took her no more than a few seconds to go back to the Collector and yet in the half a minute she had been distracted, he had managed to get the upper hand. In fact, Ladybug had just tossed her yo-yo upwards and Chat Noir was jumping to follow her, his extending staff catapulting him out of the park, up and up and towards the top of the palace-like buildings around Place des Vosges.

Standing beneath them, the trees around him being swallowed back into the lines under his feet, Collector looked up. A flick from his sketchbook and the entire park moved, it twisted, the lines bursting up like a thousand outstretched hands, rushing to catch up to Ladybug and Chat Noir and flying passed them as they did, curving, diving back to attack them, to lock them inside.

A feeling of triumph had just blasted through the Collector's mind, one so strong Nathalie actually pulled herself out of the connection to look at the black structure rising out of the park, the one the Collector had imprisoned Ladybug and Chat Noir with.

He actually had—

Only, no.

A red and a black dot had just came blasting out of the Collector's lines, fleeing away from it, and the Collector stepped away from the park, following in their wake. Again, Nathalie forced herself to look around her, the quick clicking of the Painted Lady's low heeled shoes falling quiet as she stood over the city, looking down at the battle, and the very real city it was getting closer and closer to. Immediately, she reached out to the Collector.

"They are trying to lead you towards the edge of the drawing," she warned, the butterfly-shaped light around her eyes drawing the edges of the silver mask as her attention went back to the rooftops around her and the all-consuming lines.

"The lines won't connect fast enough," she continued, the turmoil in her heart, the same that made her fingers close tighter and tighter around the purple cane as she looked at the Collector, invisible under the pondered serenity of her voice. "You must fall back."

The same butterfly-shaped light that was around her eyes also burning around his, the Collector didn't even glance back, he didn't look passed the drawing of the rooftop where he stood, passed the tiles and the chimney to his back, to make sure the boundary between his vision and the city truly was behind him, to make sure he truly hadn't time. No. Teeth clenched, he trusted her.

"Noted."

And the Collector pulled the sketchbook up with that word, he snapped it down just like he would a whip and the black lines that made the drawn rooftop he stood on, responded. They rose, they fell, they sprang up, blasting towards where Ladybug and Chat Noir were charging from the same side, yo-yo and staff ready to push the Collector out of the world he controlled.

It didn't matter, however, if Ladybug and Chat Noir saw what was coming their way — and they did, they very obviously did — they didn't have time to get away. The large ripple hit them at high speed. It sent them flying through the air and back towards Place des Vosges, back towards the center of the drawing.

"I have them."

Both Ladybug and Chat Noir hit a nearby terrace. The girl falling so close to the border, she actually rolled over and ended up hanging over the street. A startled expression going through her expression, Ladybug regained her composure in a pair of seconds and pulled herself back up, running straight for her partner's assistance, reaching him right as he was about to be overwhelmed by the group of drawings that had just jumped out of the lines.

Seeing the drawings, for the first time, unable to watch the battle through her own eyes, Nathalie looked back, towards the sea of rooftops behind her, her attention surveying the lines devouring them, reaching out for each other, closing the final gap between this side of the city and Place des Vosges.

"It's finished," she announced, the connection opening wide. "The drawing—"

Nathalie reached out to grab the metal ladder on the chimney to her left that same moment, her fingers closing around one of the steps.

The images inside her mind were fading in and out, the buildings swaying, spinning, falling into the trees and bushes and into each other until she couldn't make anything apart. Using the metal ladder as an anchor, Nathalie dived straight into the connection, a rush of panic that didn't belong to her joining the one in her chest.

 _Gabriel, what—?_

She understood right then. Seeing the Collector's gloved hand come into view, seeing it rush to press his head. She understood. And she was turning the same instant, her mind split in two, seeing both the garden beyond and bellow the rooftops where she stood, the naked trees and charcoal drawings that were in front of her, and the terrace where the Collector stood, left hand pressed to his head.

"Hold on," Nathalie told him, moving down the roofs, her face growing pale when the Collector tossed himself forth again and for a moment Chat Noir came into view.

 _Just hold on!_

 **Adrien**

Something was wrong, Adrien remembered thinking, the hand the Collector had just closed over his belt forcing Ladybug to come to his aid least he swiped inside a sketchbook.

Something was wrong, his mind kept insisting even as he ran on all fours and rolled, jumping to grab the staff the Collector had kicked out of his hand, that he had sent flying halfway across the terrace were they stood.

Something was wrong.

Something was wrong.

The phrase was like a bell in his mind. One that kept tolling and tolling each time a grimace went through the Collector's face, every time he seemed to stagger, every time he stumbled and stopped and forced himself to face them again.

 _Something was wrong,_ Adrien even now thought, his stomach twisting itself in knots, his staff not so much hitting as blowing away a mass of drawings that had just jumped out of the lines around his feet, that didn't seem to be engaged in turning the city into art anymore, his eyes never leaving the grayish-white face that was his father's.

He seemed to be in pain.

He really really did.

But before Adrien could be sure, before he could be certain that grimace was more than just anger, Ladybug had grabbed his wrist, practically dragging him away from the battle, making him run passed the drawings and the vases and the lonely AC unit on the top of the building, each step taking them closer and closer to the void beyond the building.

"There are too many of them!" she cried out, when Adrien kept looking back. "Come on!"

Place des Vosges opened in front of them, looking exactly like a half-finished drawing on a canvas. Their feet hitting the edge of the building, the two of them jumped. A glance behind them, however, was enough to show them the people-like drawings were jumping into the lines that made the building they had just abandoned. They were following them. Cascading down the building's drawn facade, rushing across the black and white street and cars right beneath Adrien's feet, going over cars and under the grates surrounding Place des Vosges.

"Heads up, Milady!" Adrien shouted at Ladybug, a glance down showing her swinging the yo-yo to get down to the park, aiming it as far away as she could from the drawing they were trying to flee. "The drawings are closing in on us!"

And so was the Collector. The two of them just had to look down to see his shadow on the road beneath them and know he was coming straight for them — or so Adrien thought, for rather than attack them, the Collector dived straight down, one of his legs crashing into the staff Adrien had just sent towards the ground.

 _Oh no!_

The staff wobbled under him, it slipped on the road, before Adrien could do anything he was falling, the Collector sending him crashing straight into the black and white side of the park, into the drawing he controlled.

 _ **No!**_

Adrien hit the white floor with a pained groan. Turning over himself, going to lie belly up over the drawn lines, he was on time to see Ladybug make this large swerve over the green trees to the back, her feet grazing the naked tree branches.

Releasing her yo-yo, pulling it back to her, Ladybug landed over a patch of what once had been green grass some meters to Adrien's left. And she did so just as the Collector himself landed on top of the fountain. A flick of his sketchbook and the structure turned into a spiral staircase, which he started going down of, red eyes always focused on them, teeth clenched.

The weight was back to Adrien's stomach.

That expression—It wasn't anger. It wasn't even pain. It was agony. And it took over the Collector's eyes just as he stepped down his imagined stairway, the dancer-like movements that made him as slippery as oil coming to an abrupt end.

 _F-Father?_

The Collector swayed, the sketchbook slipped from his fingers and the same moment it hit the ground, the stairs he had been standing on disappeared, the drawings that had been rising out of the lines around it retreated—and the Collector fell, crashing to the gravel around the rapidly redrawing fountain, curled over himself, hands pressed to his head.

 _ **Father!**_

This was what it must have been like for Ladybug when Hawkmoth had engaged them that night in the rooftops. That moment when she had come to Adrien's aid, that moment she had tossed the yo-yo and heard Hawkmoth's wrist break, that moment when she had frozen, not believing what she had done, this _was_ what that must have felt like, for even though Chat Noir was still moving, even if he was running, feet sinking into the black and white grass, cold air hitting his face, he was no longer thinking. He had forgotten about everything. Right now, he just meant to get where the Collector was, curling over himself in agony. He didn't care if he wasn't fully his father, he just meant to be with him. He just wanted to understand what was wrong.

And he would never get a chance to do that.

A tiny speak, one so impossibly white it looked like it was made of light itself, had just flown over Adrien's left shoulder. Then another crossed his path, coming from the still green trees and bushes to his left. And then another and another. Adrien stopped so abruptly he slipped, crashing back first into the flowerbed he was running across. The dark sky was in front of him now and, his eyes wide with disbelief, Adrien watched as dozen of small white specks flew over him.

It reminded him of something this.

An abandoned house.

Boarded up windows, peeled walls and rotting wood.

And standing among all of that a masked man, a grin twisting his features.

Adrien catapulted himself back to his feet so fast he could feel some of the butterflies hitting his face; that he rose his staff, preparing himself from an attack, before he took a glimpse at what he was truly facing and actually stepped back.

There were dozen of butterflies flying towards the fountain near which the Collector stood, there were _hundreds_ coming in a wave over the buildings surrounding the park and from inside the alleys and taking flight from the trees. But that wasn't what made Adrien gape. No. The butterflies, all the butterflies, were joining to form a swarm right over the fountain, they were flying so tightly around each other Adrien couldn't tell them apart, that they formed a tornado. A gigantic tornado. And the instant the tornado hit the ground, swallowing the fountain, swallowing the Collector, something else did too. Something that could be glimpsed through the swirling mass of butterflies. A person. A person downing a silver mask. A person with glacier blue eyes.

 _"_ _ ** _Milady, he is—!_**_ _ _"__

Ladybug didn't need him shouting. She might be standing a few meters to his left, this row of bushes near her legs, but she had seen Hawkmoth as clearly as he had, and she was moving already.

Running down the garden path to the left, twirling her yo-yo, she tossed it right towards the swirling mass of butterflies, right at the figure they could glimpse standing in the center of it, the heavy end of her weapon striking once, twice, thrice—

Adrien stopped counting, his own staff being extended and brandished against the butterflies flying around Hawkmoth. He expected it to cut right through them and reach him, but the staff crashed against the tornado instead. Like it was a brick wall. And it didn't matter how much strength he put behind each strike. It didn't push through! _It didn't!_

 _"_ _ ** **Chat!****_ Hawkmoth is using the butterflies as a shield!" Ladybug shouted, and Adrien sure as rain could see that! "When he moves them to the front, his back— _ **Chat!**_ _"_

Adrien was not listening. He should be listening, he knew that, there was a really good reason for Ladybug to be the one doing the thinking here, she was the one with the cool head, but right now he simply didn't care. All Adrien could see was the Collector's silhouette, this dark patch just between the dark shadow that was Hawkmoth and the fountain. He had to get to him. He had to help. He had to move Hawkmoth out of the way if it was the last thing he did and—!

It felt like the person behind the blue eyes Adrien could glimpse from time to time had read his thoughts. Meeting Chat Noir's green gaze head on, Hawkmoth seemed to be daring him to try to reach him, to try to get to the Collector. He seemed to think Chat Noir wouldn't take the challenge head-on. Or maybe he did know he would, maybe he knew exactly what Adrien was about to do for right when Chat Noir jumped forward, staff ready to strike, Ladybug shouting at him to stop, Hawkmoth made his move.

Adrien wouldn't lie. What he expected out of this confrontation was for Hawkmoth to step out from behind his butterflies, to jump away from hiding, sword in hand. _To attack._ Just like what had happened not that long ago, in that derelict house.

What neither him nor Ladybug were expecting was what happened next.

The flapping of the butterflies' wings became louder. The top half of Hawkmoth's tornado broke away. And there, against the dark night sky, moving to smite them like judgment day itself, was this giant white mass. It dived down forcing Chat Noir and Ladybug to jump out of the way, to roll for safety, to get to their feet in time to see the butterflies break into smaller groups and aim straight to attack them.

"You can't tell me this is normal!" Adrien shouted, getting back to back with Ladybug, staff twirling in front of him. "These are _**not**_ normal butterflies!"

"I can see that!" Ladybug snapped, her yo-yo being used as a shield, swirling in front of her.

The two of them were dancing around each other now, blocking the blows falling on them like the forger's hammer on particularly stubborn steel.

"If I didn't know better I would swear this isn't him!" Ladybug hissed, this swift fluid movement actually allowing her to divert the butterflies, to start aiming her yo-yo at the tornado and Hawkmoth's shadow before another blow from the butterflies forced her to defend herself again. "This isn't remotely the way he fought—!"

Ladybug clenched her teeth, a new group of butterflies launching themselves at them seeing her jump to roll over Adrien's back and fall on the other side, this up-down strike she aimed at the white mass flying by them, actually managing to break the group apart. The butterflies scattered like petals, fleeing in all directions. Ladybug had found them an opening. There was an opening! And on the other side—

Adrien closed his hands firmly around the staff, eyes on the blue-eyed shadow beyond the swirling tornado.

"No, Chat! Don't!"

If only he was in any other state of mind, if only he had listened! But he didn't. And so instead of sticking with Ladybug, instead of playing at the defense, Adrien jumped forth, he took advantage of the opening, he launched himself to get to Hawkmoth—

"Chat!"

—and played right into his hand. For this wasn't an opening at all. The very moment he and Ladybug became separated the shadow in the center of the tornado made a swiping movement with its hand and the butterflies fell on them, not so much striking like they had done before but flying by. There must be millions of them here now. At least, that was what this felt like. And Adrien could feel himself being dragged by them, he could feel himself being lifted off his feet and then— _then,_ he completely took flight. He was being tossed back and forth, caught in what felt like a giant shaker, and he could feel himself crash against branches, go through bushes, pain making a sharp exhale go through his lips when he hit what seemed to be a tree trunk and a sudden clarity made him force the staff to enlarge, sticking it between the tree he had just hit and something equally resilient that was somewhere to the right.

There were butterflies crashing against him now, so many, Adrien had to close his eyes. And then, just like that, gravity took hold of him again. He fell to the floor. Opening his eyes, finding this line of green bushes in front of him, blocking his view, Adrien got to his feet and jumped over it.

The butterflies had dragged him out of the drawing and into the still real part of the park, there were living trees and rich textures and colorful flowers around him, but—but he was alone.

"Ladybug?"

Adrien's feet hit the green grass on the other side, crushing it as he ran, panic taking hold of him when he finally reached the drawing, stepped inside of it, and found the area around the fountain empty.

"Ladybug?" Adrien cried out, looking around the trees and bushes and park benches for a glimpse of her bright red suit. " **Ladybug!** "

Rustling came from the group of trees in the middle of the flowerbed to Adrien's left. The sound of tree branches snapping against each other and breaking making him look to catch this glimpse of red. A muffled _"_ _ _Here"__ later and Ladybug was jumping out of one of the trees, her hair filled with small drawn twigs and leaves and what had once been dry moss. She was here, feet hitting the black and white grass, trying to get a drawn twig or another from her clothes, struggling to get her yo-yo to untangle from the tree. But Father, the Collector, he—

Adrien looked around, frantic, attention going over the fountain and the gravel paths and the trees and everything, be it drawing or real, that was around him.

The Collector was nowhere to be found. He was gone. Hawkmoth had taken him. And looking up to the sky over the drawn buildings around Place des Vosges, searching the night, Adrien clenched his teeth at this large white spot on the sky.

The butterflies.

He could see them. They looked like a white cloud against the dark sky, a cloud that was being carried by wind, but it was definitely _them_. They were _fleeing_. With Hawkmoth. With Father. And they were fast. They were damn fast, rooftop after rooftop was falling behind them like it was nothing, but Chat Noir was fast too. He could catch them. He sure as hell could catch them. And the moment he thought that, Adrien was moving. His staff hit the floor, catapulting him up into the sky, up over the garden's fountain and the treetops, aiming for the roofs of the buildings around the garden, attention never leaving the distant cloud of butterflies.

If he could just get to them! If he could just—!

The sound of Ladybug's yo-yo unwinding broke through Adrien's thoughts, the feeling of something wrapping around his left ankle registering in his mind before he felt this pull, this strong, determined pull and the buildings surrounded Place des Vosges started going not down but up, naked tree branches coming back in view, the top of the fountain going by him, tree trunks giving way to shrubs.

Adrien hit the floor a second later, air being knocked out of his lungs. A moment of giddiness, of seeing great white lights on his vision, and he pulled himself to sit, looking up in time to see Ladybug crouch at his side, eyes gleaming with anger.

"We need a plan!" she snapped, hands closing over both sides of Chat Noir's masked face, forcing his attention away from the fleeing butterflies and back to her. "I need _your help!_ Stop being reckless!"

 **Nathalie**

The Collector's right shoulder hit the grayish wall to back of an alley, his shallow breathing echoing up the small deserted space. Hissing, shuddering, he clung to Nathalie even as his failing strength dragged the two of them down and they sank to their knees, falling amid the dumpsters and filth and discarded cans surrounding them.

 **"** _ ** **I don't have time for this!"****_

The Collector's right fist cut through the air with his outburst, hitting the grayish slabs at his side before Nathalie could make a single gesture to stop him. The pain he had aimed to use to get his mind back under control, however, to get himself back to his feet, accomplished nothing. His left arm over Nathalie's shoulders, head pressed to one hand, the Collector was still here. Still kneeling. Still struggling. Still furious.

" **Get up!** " he snapped at himself, white hair falling over his fingers, nails sinking into the skin of his forehead. " **GET BACK UP!** "

If anything, he tried, over and over again. He struggled to the point he actually managed to start raising, fingers sinking into Nathalie's shoulder, expression distorted by pain. It lasted a moment. No more than a few seconds. Then strength failed him and he crashed back down, collapsing to his knees, fist again aimed to hit the ground, where he would have sank it, again, if Nathalie hadn't managed to stop him.

"You have to calm down," she whispered, both the sword that was the Painted Lady's weapon and the sketchbook that was the Collector's being dropped at her side so she could cup the grayish-white face, fingers combing through the short locks of black and white hair. "Please, calm—"

" **Chat!** "

Nathalie's fingers pressed into the Collector's face. Her attention going from him to the opposite end of the alley, she pulled the Collector back to his feet, helping him walk to a nearby green dumpster, behind which she helped him sit, behind which they both hid, the Collector with his back against the building's wall, Nathalie herself crouched at his side and facing the alley's entrance, left hand closed over the top rapier's handle, the blade slowly sliding out of its sheath.

The alley was narrow. A long dark corridor flanked by several-floor-high walls of what were mostly grayish-white slabs—or at least had been. Closest to the alley's entrance, beyond the green dumpsters that were carefully lined up against the wall and the bag someone had tossed in there and that laid right in the middle of the path, spilling garbage everywhere, the stone slabs turned into a drawing. That very drawing framed the trees of Place des Vosges, and what at this point looked like an unfinished painting: colorful trees and cars and buildings mixed with sharp charcoal lines, color and movement stopping to give way to black and white spaces, reality being consumed by art.

As mesmerizing as that sight was, it wasn't what had captured Nathalie's attention. There, beyond the line of green dumpsters and the discarded garbage bag, beyond the cans and filth spilling from it, just now stepping into the blade of light that dived inside the alley, was a figure, the tall, lean figure of a boy, his shadow getting bigger and bigger as he went to stand at the entrance. Recognizing him, seeing the Collector take his sketchbook from her hands, eyes flaming red, Nathalie turned back to him, hand closing over his.

"Chat, what are you doing?!"

Ladybug's voice broke inside the alley once again. Her clear, sharp words forcing the Nathalie to lock her eyes with the Collector and shake her head when the angry red ones met hers. A peek outside, beyond Chat Noir's lean figure, and Nathalie returned her hand to the rapier.

Ladybug was even now standing on the other side of the road, right behind an entirely charcoal car and with the high grates surrounding Place des Vosges behind her.

"Chat!" she called out again.

A quick glance behind him, at her, and Chat Noir stepped inside the alley.

"I think I heard voices!" he shouted back, footsteps echoing up the walls. In what seemed to have been just a moment he was standing so close to Nathalie and the Collector, Nathalie only had to glance to the side to see the tip of Chat Noir's black boots. "I'm just going to investigate!"

Ladybug's answer bristled with impatience.

"We don't have time for that! I need your help!" she said. "Come on!"

A second of hesitation, of standing right in the middle of the alley, looking around, and Chat Noir twirled his staff, stepped back, and ran all the way back into the street, back to his ally.

Watching him retreat, Nathalie dropped the cane to her side and swallowed. This was as much of a close call as she needed. And so, before the Collector had a chance to say a word to the contrary, she put his arm back around her shoulders and jumped, catapulting the two of them upwards and to the rooftops where they landed.

Now spreading in front of them, the drawing that was Place des Vosges did not gather as much of Nathalie's attention as the two teenagers running through it and this distant white speck on the sky, looking like a cloud, that was moving away.

The butterflies.

Pinching her lips, Nathalie looked back passed the drawn trees and paths of Place des Vosges, back to Ladybug and Chat Noir, the fading hope she would see them chase the group all but dying when she found them instead giving chase to the remaining transformed people, the drawings, that now rested immobile on Place des Vosges.

They hadn't fallen for it.

She had been sure that at least Chat Noir would, but no. He was still here and judging by the way he was chasing the drawings, leading them inside this kind of lasso Ladybug had built with the charcoal lines that had fallen over the real side of the park, Ladybug's present plan—

"Did you get the diary?"

Nathalie took her attention away from the way Ladybug was trying to hoist the drawings inside her lasso so that they would be hanging from one of the real trees, and looked to her side, back to the man still leaning against her for support. Worry flashed through her masked faced when she found him with his head hanging low, short puffs of air crossing a line of thin white lips.

"I couldn't find it," Nathalie informed, trying to lower the Collector to sit on the roof's black tiles. "It wasn't anywhere in Marinette's bedroom. It is possible she hid it considering her friends were there—"

The Collector didn't allow for Nathalie to finish. His arm had fallen away from her shoulders, he was straightening, stepping away from her—and immediately he stammered. He might have fallen, he would have fallen, if Nathalie hadn't reached to grab him that same instant.

"You are getting worse," she noted, looking over his face and then back, over the city, towards _La Tour Eiffel_ and the neighborhoods around it. "We have to go back."

The Collector slipped from her grasp. Again. He moved away from her with such swiftness it felt like he was made of water. He hadn't even taken a step, however, before he was forced to stop, to sit on the black tiles at her side and curl over himself, head pressed between his hands.

"Get up," the Collector still whispered, trying to fight through the pain. _"_ _ _Get up."__

Nathalie's fingers fell away just short of touching the Collector's shoulder. For a moment, she stood at his side, hand still outstretched, watching his shoulders rise and fall, watching him struggle to get back to his feet.

She wouldn't have needed a Miraculous to know how he felt right now, but maybe she did need one, to say what she said next.

"This is not about the Miraculous, is it?" Nathalie whispered, softly, gently, and much in the same way she had done just a day ago, a glance to her right allowing her to look around, towards Place des Vosges, towards the lines that had stopped short of engulfing the roof where they stood. "None of this is."

Head still on his hands, the Collector scoffed, angrily:

"What else would this be about?!"

"You hurting Adrien," Nathalie said, bright blue eyes returning to him. "Punishing yourself."

The Butterfly Miraculous shivered against her chest, it pulsed, it gave her all the answer she needed.

"It is about that," Nathalie whispered. "And Robostus?"

The Collector's only response was to close his eyes. Hidden behind the Butterfly's silver mask, her eyes searching what little she could see of his face, Nathalie found her mind traveling all the way back to her room, to sitting with Gabriel as he laid on her bed, exhausted and looking away with this very same expression. This very same pain.

"You are not the same as last time, are you?" Nathalie put forth, gently. "You didn't rise from betrayal."

Blood red eyes met hers.

"Does that matter?" he snapped.

Perhaps not. But looking at the sketchbook resting over the black tiles just to the side of her feet, remembering the way it hadn't, not once, been used against her, maybe, just maybe, it made all the difference in the world.

"He wanted me to tell you he is fine," Nathalie said, her expression softening when a flicker of gray dulled the red gleam of the eyes she was facing. "Adrien. This morning at school, he didn't let me leave until I promised I would tell you not to worry. That what happened to him wasn't your fault."

The part of Gabriel was with her, sitting, fingers reaching back for his head, allowed a chuckle to leave his lips.

"Do you doubt he meant it?" Nathalie asked.

"No. But Adrien—" The Collector closed his eyes, voice shivering, the words seeming to become stuck in his throat. "Adrien knows precious little."

"Isn't what he knows enough?"

For how softly Nathalie had spoken, her words seemed to hit the Collector like a punch.

"Adrien was never meant to _know,_ " he hissed, fingers pressed deep into his scalp. "If, for once, I could get something right, that book would have been translated and this would have been fast and clean and _over_ and he wouldn't have to find out about _**anything!"**_

Wind hissed over the roof, the strong blast grabbing hold of a butterfly that had just landed on the Collector's shoulder and pulling it away. Wings flapping desperately, it managed to grab hold of the Painted Lady's purple dress, of safety, just as she wrapped her hands around each other.

"I didn't mean it like that," she said.

"Then what did you mean?!" the Collector snapped, and this time he looked up, this time he looked right at her. "That Adrien saw Emilie walk out the door and she never returned?! That he is going to wake up each morning and she won't be there?!"

Nathalie's expression saddened. A step taking her closer the Collector, she dropped to her knees at his side.

"Adrien," she told him. "Knows that he is coming back home tomorrow, after his classes and his photo session, and that _**you**_ will be there, just like you always were."

The Collector's eyes widened, something of gray shivering in his eyes as he turned to face her and Nathalie found her gaze drop to the cane lying on her lap, the way her eyes fingers pressed around it, even the way the Collector was now looking at her, all fading, all disappearing to the far too vivid a memory of Adrien kicking the door to Gabriel's bedroom open, to him running down the stairs, to the feeling of his arms locking desperately around her.

"What am I to tell him if you aren't?" Nathalie went on to ask, a step away from Adrien leaving him still here, still with her, a question spoken in scared whisper being directed at her.

"Where is Mom?"

Nathalie's hands closed around the cane.

"What am I suppose to tell him this time?"

A shivering breath going through her lips, she looked back up, facing the entirely gray eyes that had never left hers.

"Ask of me anything," she told the Collector. " _Anything._ I will be right at your side."

Her fingers brushed against the Miraculous, closed around it, feeling it pulsing softly before she pulled the stone from her chest.

"But this," she whispered and light washed over her, the kwami appearing at her side letting out a small gasp when Nathalie reached for The Collector's hand and brought it up, returning the Miraculous he had given her to his hand. "I can't help you with this."

The Collector looked down, towards the small stone resting on his open palm, then at her.

"You—" he whispered and he closed his eyes, his hand closing so tight around the Miraculous it looked like he might crush it.

"Please, let's just head back," Nathalie asked him and with that their eyes met. Hers blue and deep and clear. The Collector's red. Anguished. Tormented.

"I'm getting those Miraculous," he told her, voice low, eyes burning, the Miraculous being trusted into her hands once more. "I'm getting out of here with them or not at all."

"M. Agreste—"

 _"_ _ ** _I am not Gabriel Agreste!_**_ _ _"__

The Collector pulled himself to his feet. Pain flaring through his face, he stepped over the edge of the building, jumping, falling, landing on the sidewalk several meters below. He was moving across the street now, opening his sketchbook, allowing the lines to connect to those of the drawing around him, not caring to look back, to where Nathalie still stood, to where a small mauve kwami hovered at her side.

"She can stop him," Nooroo reminded her, kindly, and Nathalie looked away from the place where the Collector was making his way across the street, and went to face the kwami that was here with her, watching her with sad eyes, watching her like he knew her heart had shattered to pieces. "She is the only one who can."

Nathalie dropped her eyes.

"No," she whispered. "I can't."

And going back to watch the Collector, seeing him walk through the black and white drawing that was Place des Vosges, alone, Nathalie forced her path through the sorrow, she forced herself to ponder, to think, she forced herself to be _useful_ , to close her eyes, to face the Collector has he had been not even a minute ago.

" **I am not Gabriel Agreste!"** he had snapped.

 _I am not Gabriel Agreste,_ Nathalie even now repeated.

He was not Gabriel, but he was _someone_. There was someone he had never denied being.

"Lady?"

The soft calling broke through her thoughts. Looking to her side, Nathalie faced the large white eyes belonging to the kwami floating at her side.

"M. Agreste told me that the emotions used to fuel the akuma are always connected to a desire. A desire which has been denied and that a person wishes to see fulfilled," she put forth, frowning softly when Nooroo nodded. "What happens if that wish comes true?"

Nooroo tilted his head—

"Closure."

—and blinked at his own answer, something sharp immediately taking hold of his eyes.

"What is she planning to do?" he probed and right then he disappeared, the light that washed over Nathalie leaving only the Painted Lady standing on the rooftops, a lonely butterfly standing on her shoulder, its small black eyes following the man walking through the park, the fragment of the person that was truly its master, and then turning to her, just like it was asking how it could help.

"Find Adrien," Nathalie asked it.

The butterfly took flight from her shoulder and dropped, falling towards the street.

Turning towards La Tour Eiffel and the neighborhoods around it, the Painted Lady gave one last glance behind her and she too disappeared, diving deep into the night.

 **Adrien**

Their first warning had been a ripple going through the drawn buildings beyond the park's trees and grates. The second, an all consuming wave, ripping through the park like a tsunami, trees and buildings and park benches all disappearing to it. And then, the Collector had appeared. Stepping from within the drawing itself, eyes burning like wild fire, the drawing he controlled twisting around him.

To say Adrien was relieved to see him, to have him back here, to know Hawkmoth hadn't done anything else to him, was an understatement—even if what followed probably should make Adrien rethink all of that.

Place des Vosges didn't look anything like itself right now. The buildings, the trees, the cars, _everything_ was gone. The world around them was just random lines going in all directions, there was no reason to them, no thought at all other than the obvious wish to fulfill Hawkmoth's demands and get the Miraculous and just like the first time they had faced the Collector, back at the house, to stop him now wasn't in any way easy.

"We have to get him away from here!" Ladybug shouted while she ran, her feet hitting the black lines that made the floor, the same ones that made the walls. "It's the only way we will stand any chance! We have to get him away from the drawing!"

Running behind her, Adrien grimaced when she looked to the side.

"That's easier said than—!"

The ground under Adrien's feet had just convulsed. Looking down, seeing the formerly straight lines simmer, seeing them crash against each other, Adrien just had time to trade this alarmed glance with Ladybug before the entire black mass dived passed them, before it launched itself in all directions and burst out of the floor, rising up and up until it even covered the sky.

It looked like this forest of twisting thorny ivy was surrounding them now, it was everywhere and so dense they had no chance to move passed it, that they were forced to stop, to stand back to back, Ladybug with her yo-yo swirling at their side, Adrien with the staff raised in front of him. This was bad. But the worse of it, the very worse, wasn't the charcoal lines that looked as sharp as blades, it wasn't that they could burst at them at any second, it was the ivy to Adrien's left had just opened a path and him and Ladybug turned to see a dark figure.

The Collector.

He was here.

And before they could even trade a glance he was on them.

This was a nightmare, Adrien couldn't help but think as he dived to escape the sketchbook and, hitting the ground, was forced to roll to avoid the kick that had been aimed at him.

It was worse than a nightmare, his mind corrected him when Ladybug launched herself to grab the Collector's right forearm and was immediately lunged, like a rag doll, against Adrien.

They were trapped by the vines. There was no way out of here. It was this same scenario time and time again. The only reason why they weren't yet inside a book, why they got a chance and another and another was because—

A moan had just escaped, the Collector's lips. The thorny birdcage around them shivered. Seeing the Collector immediately claw at his head, Adrien disentangled himself from Ladybug, he ran, Ladybug's shout of _"Get the book!"_ echoing behind him as he got closer and closer to the place where the Collector had just fallen to his knees, to where his sketchbook had just hit the floor—

It was already too late. The drawing was breaking apart, it was disappearing, it was crumbling right under Adrien's feet and just like that the three of them, all three of them, were swallowed by the vacuum underneath, the rapidly reorganizing lines that had been around them going back to drawn the buildings and the park and every single little detail on the streetlamps and flowerbeds as him and Ladybug and the Collector crashed through the air, diving straight for the line of parked cars on the street.

"Chat!"

Air hissing at his ears, Adrien turned his head, he did so to find Ladybug falling belly up at his side, to find her already with her yo-yo at the ready and reaching a hand out to him.

"Quick!"

The claws to the tip of Chat Noir's fingers brushed her hand when Adrien reached for Ladybug, they did at least twice, before their hands closed around each other and Ladybug threw her yo-yo towards a building that had just sprouted back into existence right at their side, it's facade rising high over them. Rushing up, the yo-yo wrapped around the drawn chimney, its cable stopping their fall so abruptly it swung them straight into the building's black and white wall.

"Still a nice catch, Milady," Adrien groaned.

On a second, though, he should probably have waited to be on the ground to celebrate. Dangling over the vacuum, this line of draw cars several meters under him, Adrien could feel his hand slip from Ladybug's the very moment he finished speaking. In fact, he just had to look at their hands to see the black fabric around his hand sliding down the red fabric covering Ladybug's arm and in a pair of seconds, he was falling again, Ladybug turning smaller and smaller overhead. And because things weren't bad enough already, the lines that made the building in front of Adrien were starting to move, they were not as much opening as being ripped apart, they were—

 _You have got to be kidding me!_

The Collector had just blasted out of building, he had crashed straight into him, his open sketchbook going by so close to Adrien's head it was sheer dumb luck he didn't end up inside. And now they were falling together! Him and the Collector. They were falling passed window after window, one trying to get to the sketchbook, the other the Miraculous, and if Adrien was to be grateful for something in the midst of this—of this—

He was running out of words with which to describe this!

—was that making the sketchbook grab hold of his drawing of Place des Vosges again, raising the lines so they would form this slope on which to land, the Collector was so close to him, he ended up not only breaking his own fall, but Adrien's as well. And truly, Adrien would be grateful for that, even if he wasn't for anything of what happened next.

They hit the park rolling, both Adrien's staff and the Collector's sketchbook flying out of their hands as they crashed through a path and entered the nearby black and white flowerbed. Getting himself to his hands and knees, this shake being given to his head, Adrien was back on his feet a second later, he was running towards the staff he could see on the path to his left, just beyond the drawn grass that was under him. The thing was that, while his staff was laying there on the ground, the Collector's sketchbook had just flown back to his hand, and looking over his shoulder, Adrien could see the thing being tossed his way, he could see it cut the air over the drawings of flowers and grass just as he vaulted over this shrub that was in front of him. The thing was coming after him! It was flying low, just like it had been aimed for his legs, but it was coming for him all the same! If he didn't get out of the way—!

Adrien gave a last look at the staff as it laid over the drawn gravel, he did—and then he jumped to the side.

The sketchbook cut right through the space where he had been, it flew over the boundary of the flowerbed and into the path, and in so doing the blank pages grazed the staff, they took it right out of existence, just before the sketchbook itself darted back to the Collector's hand and he opened it.

Immediately, the floor where Adrien stood started to move, the black lines blasted up, curving to connect right overhead and, seeing them start to reach for each other, to join to form this kind of horrible sarcophagus around him—actually seeing the shrub he had jumped over to get to the staff twist to form this chain-like thing that rushed to close around the hand that held the Miraculous—Adrien did the only thing he could right now.

He ran.

Black lines blasting around him, already enclosing him in darkness, Adrien _ran_ and aimed for were the Collector stood just some meters away, he aimed straight for the sketchbook he held in front of him and that waterfall of charcoal lines that controlled the world. And fortunately, _fortunately_ , while the Collector was the tallest one here, while he was the strongest, he wasn't the fastest. He was _not_ the fastest. And Adrien would spend the rest of the night thanking the stars for that, for, his teeth clenching into a snarl, seeing Chat Noir rush for him, the Collector had no time to get out of the way, he had no choice but to break the lines that fell from the sketchbook and give up on the ones ready to imprison Chat Noir, he had no choice but to close the sketchbook and toss it away.

Still running, Adrien lowered his head and threw his shoulder against the ones that were straight in front of him. The lines shattered like glass, they fell with him as he rammed straight into his father's chest and both of them hit the garden bench that had been behind the Collector the entire time. That Chat Noir had the upper hand right now, however, meant _nothing_ when the Collector's sketchbook was nowhere near him and so Adrien jumped to his feet, he fled as fast as he could on the opposite direction, he ran and ran and stopped only when he saw green grass under his feet, his mouth so dry he could barely swallow.

That had been—That had been by a hair's breadth and stealing a glance at the Miraculous on his finger, just to be sure it was still there, Adrien forced himself to breathe, he forced himself to turn back, and face the Collector.

Standing not on the real world but on the drawing where the two of them had been fighting, the Collector had just raised his right arm to his side, he had just called his sketchbook back. The thing crashed to his fingers like a bullet, the impact on the bruised wrist seeming to hurt Adrien more than it did the Collector though, for lips curling, he was pointing the sketchbook straight at Adrien.

"At this point, _cat,"_ he growled. "It would be wise to give up."

Stealing nervous glances at the Miraculous, opening and closing his hand, Adrien swallowed, he looked up and—

"Excellent point," Chat Noir conceded, a good humored grin immediately filling his face. "You first."

The Collector's eyes turned to slits.

 _"_ _ _What?"__

A sound like a twig snapping had just risen from somewhere in the park. Feeling his heart all but leap in his chest, lips mouthing _"Ladybug,"_ Adrien made this split second gesture to look back, to search for her—and ended up frozen, eyes rushing back to where the Collector stood, sketchbook him hand, eyes ablaze.

Okay, first things first. Don't ever, for even for _a second_ , lose _**him**_ from sight. Second, think like Ladybug. If that sound had been her, if it truly had been her, it hadn't been an accident. And if it hadn't been an accident, she was trying to call his attention. Which meant—

Adrien went to search the buildings behind the Collector, his eyes moving over checkered windows, over this hanging pots someone had on their window sill and that the Collector seemed to have filled with flowers. From there he looked to the rooftops, to the—

Something had just peeked from behind this tall chimney, an unmistakable flash of red in the midst of the black and white drawing. Letting his attention slide away from the spot where Ladybug was even now giving him this sign, Adrien sank the tip of his right foot into the ground, this small mound of pebbles going to rest over his boot as he continued to frown at the rest of the rooftops like he couldn't find anything, then he returned to the Collectorwho was pretty much on the same spot, fingers clawed around the sketchbook, and also searching for Ladybug.

Adrien opened and closed his hands, the absence of the staff heavy on his mind. What had he been telling the Collector a moment ago? Something about—

That was right, _giving up!_

"You know, it is actually quite the big problem," Adrien confessed with a dejected sigh, and started to raise his fingers as he went through his list. "Video games. Board games. Sports. I never know when to stop."

The Collector's lips twisted, corners pulling downwards.

"Lovely," he snarled still searching for Ladybug on the trees and buildings, the hissed _"Where is she?"_ that followed his words coming at the exact same time Adrien caught a Ladybug silently start to unwind the yo-yo's cable.

"I don't know about lovely," Adrien immediately chuckled, trying to stifle whatever sound she might make. "I usually just end up driving people insane. And, believe it or not, I have someone back home who is even worse!"

The Collector's nostrils flared.

"He must be so unbelievable proud," he jeered and the venom to the words made Adrien's heart stop for a moment, his gaze lingering on the grayish face perhaps for a moment longer than it should.

"I hope so," he heard himself whisper and then he smiled, Ladybug giving him this sign from the rooftops, making Adrien sink his foot deeper into the gravel. "Not going to show me how this giving up thing is done, then? If you are bad at it too, we should just go ahead and practice together."

The Collector's eyes flared, this time he looked straight at him.

"I would _rethink_ this, cat."

 _No, you wouldn't,_ Adrien replied and if he had any doubts about it the pain he could see flaring behind the Collector's eyes, the way he stood there facing him regardless, would have wiped his mind of any doubts.

 _You would never give up._

Ladybug jumping out of hiding right that moment, made Adrien clench his teeth.

 _And neither will I!_

Ladybug's yo-yo came hissing through the park that same instant. A swift move and the Collector had stepped out of his path, opening his sketchbook, ready to swipe the yo-yo inside just like he had done with the staff.

This time around, however, the yo-yo had not been aimed at him. It had never meant to even go near him. Instead, it sank into the ground some meters to Adrien's left just as he kicked the small mound of earth he had built. Dust and pebbles blasted into the air, aimed straight at the Collector, and if something had to go right this did. The Collector had no time to shield his eyes and seeing that, Adrien seized his chance. He jumped forward, again aiming for the book. It should have worked. But the Collector clearly understood what was going on. He had pulled the sketchbook behind his back, he was forcing his eyes to open, and even if looked nothing short of half-blind right now, he somehow seemed to notice Adrien coming right for him and dropped, this low kick being blindly aimed at his legs.

As much as Adrien would love to say the Collector failed — which he did — the movement robbed the legs from under him all the same, sending him crashing to the floor.

The sketchbook was still within reach, however, if he just—

Adrien's attention fell on the hand holding the sketchbook. Even from here, even when his father had been turned into _this_ , it still didn't look good, it was really swollen, it still looked painful, so maybe he could do it, maybe he should take the risk, maybe it was worth it, but if he failed—

The sketchbook come hissing right for his head. It almost hit him when the Collector twisted his hand and the white pages cut the air centimetres to his right. Even half-blind, he was still dangerously accurate. And if Adrien did fail—

Adrien stole a glance to where Ladybug stood, on the drawn rooftop, right next to that tall chimney, waiting for him, and clenched his teeth.

He couldn't leave her to deal with this alone. And—

The Collector again attacked, again came dangerously close of putting him inside the sketchbook, again his bruised right wrist, came into view. If he could hit it, a part of Adrien's mind kept insisted, while the rest of him reeled at the very thought.

 _I won't hurt you,_ it said.

 _ **I won't hurt you!**_

Adrien dived away from the Collector, he rolled on the grass and launched himself at the place, Ladybug's yo-yo stood waiting for him. A strong pull later and he was flying away from the park, he was darting towards the drawn rooftops and Ladybug while still looking at where the Collector stood, blinking furiously, trying to get his eyes to work again, the sketchbook Adrien had strive to steal still firmly in his hand.

There had to be a way they could solve this.

There had to be a way!

 **Nathalie**

A tiny white speck was flying over the dark tile roofs of ones of Paris neighborhoods, the flapping of its wings taking it passed chimneys and the odd terrace as it kept a close watch over the maze of streets, what could only be a mounting of frustration making it circle the entire neighborhood three times before it thought it better to turn back.

Now going over the cement handrail of a terrace, its wings opening, the butterfly dived into the street underneath, it flew over the large cooling box of a white truck, then over the line of parked cars in front of it, and then straight to the middle of the street, towards this group of tiny specks, this group of butterflies, that was following the road.

Acknowledging each other, the butterflies entered a dark alley some seconds later, they flew under broken streetlamp after broken streetlamp until they reached the lonely, and flickering, column of light that was to the end of it to join the rest of the butterflies that were already gathering there.

Flying as a group around the light, for the most part ignoring the moths crashing against the glass, the butterflies waited until a shadow appeared over the gap between the two buildings, until it jumped inside the alley where they were and the clicking of heels echoed through the darkness, coming straight in their direction, they waited until a woman, her face hidden by a butterfly-shaped silver masked entered the flickering circle of light with this wooden frame in her right hand and looked straight up.

"You found Adrien?"

The butterflies stopped just as they prepared to join her. The voice that had just flowed out of the purple-colored lips was nothing like the rich tone they expected to hear, it sounded _nothing_ like the voice of the black-haired lady who sometimes stood with their Master, and that made them fall back, close to the light. Their wings now fluttering, trepidation, and something else, something _dangerous_ , making the small group circle faster around the lamp, the butterflies looked at the Painted Lady as if searching for a piece of reassurance to the fact that she was who they thought she was and even thought the Butterfly Miraculous rested on her chest, even though one of their brothers had guided her here and now flew around her looking increasingly impatient, even though she had this scarf around her shoulders they recognized as belonging to their Master, they found that reassurance not in any of those things, but on that soft sadness that was starting to fill her blue eyes at their hesitation, that same sadness that gave her voice back its kindness, that made her sound like herself.

"It's just me."

The butterflies fell through the column of flickering light with those words, both the orange hue that came from it and the alley's darkness being reflected in their white wings as they went to fly around the Painted Lady much like they usually did with Hawkmoth.

And much like they did with Hawkmoth, the moment the Painted Lady reached one of her hands to them, one of the butterflies broke away from the group, it landed on her fingers — it did, even if it knew it was not to be granted an akuma's power.

"You know where Adrien is?" the Painted Lady asked.

The butterfly's only answer was to take flight from her fingers, to rejoin the group around her. For Nathalie it was as good as if they had spoken. Nothing. They had nothing. And reaching out to where the Collector stood, to the akuma that she had lost all manner of contact with while going back to the house, she peeked through the connection. It was only after a long moment of trying to make sense of the Collector's blurred vision, of trying to work out what could possible have happened without coming up with any answers, that she stepped back.

He was alone.

The narrow alley again around her, Nathalie turned back to the butterflies.

"Ladybug and Chat Noir?"

On the world of questions being answered the moment they were asked, this one was certainly not in the way Nathalie had envisioned. This sound, somewhere between a whistle and a hiss, had just come from behind her. A glance taking her attention to the gap between the two buildings that were over her, passed the butterflies, and she had stepped away from the light, retreating close to the alley's gray wall, the butterflies that had been around her following behind, landing so they they would cover her.

Ladybug and Chat Noir had just swung overhead. The girl with one of hers arms firmly wrapped around her partner's waist and looking straight ahead. Chat Noir looking around so attentively, it was possible he had seen her. In fact, judging by the way the two of them once again went overhead, it was almost certain they had — and, it spoke for itself that, as disastrous as that might be, Ladybug presence seemed to Nathalie more like a solution than a problem.

"She knows where Adrien is," Nathalie told the butterflies and pulling herself away from the wall, seeing the group that had been covering her, hiding her from prying eyes, again follow behind her as she walked down the alley, she peeked into the street, right over the row of parked cars and into the top of this building Ladybug and Chat Noir had just landed on. Then, she turned back to the butterflies.

"Don't let them see you."

Nathalie raised the frame she had been holding with those words, she watched as the butterflies surrounded it, picking it from her hand. They hadn't risen more than a few centimetres, however, when they seemed to lose their strength and the frame fell back down, the butterflies themselves scattering, flying in all directions, before they rushed back in, surrounded the frame again and—

Nathalie retreated a few steps inside the alley.

"Dark wings fall," she whispered, the light that washed over her leaving her face to face with this small purplish kwami, the butterflies that had been in front of her landing on the floor, walls and her clothes. "Can't they carry it?"

Nooroo looked at the frame in Nathalie's hands.

"I can carry it," he whispered and there was something to his face, to his voice, when the turned to Nathalie that hadn't been there before. "If she doesn't trust me to come back, she can order me too."

Nathalie looked up, at the rooftops where Ladybug had just joined her partner, yo-yo being put on her belt. Then at Nooroo, waiting by her side.

The frame was put into his hands.

 _"_ _ _Please."__

 **Adrien**

Adrien was panting, small clouds leaving his lips as he looked towards the very real city around him and the rooftops that made it, the sound of Ladybug's footsteps as she jogged to get to his side making him turn.

"I swear it was him," Adrien told her, pointing out into the city. "He was on one of the alleys, butterflies and all. He is still here."

Stopping right at his side, her hands going to close over the cement handrail in front of them, Ladybug bit her lower lip.

"I don't get it," she muttered. "Why isn't he attacking? Why—?"

Ladybug stopped, this sideways glance she had just given Adrien as she turned to survey the rest of the city making her frown.

"We probably should make the best of it, come to think of it," she went on to say. "It isn't as if we haven't bigger problems. The Collector has your staff?"

Adrien blinked, the words "bigger problems" taking his attention all the way to the drawn rooftops in the distance, before the mention of his staff brought him back to his own hands. A single nod was all Ladybug needed, a glance at the rooftops around them, clearly to make sure Hawkmoth hadn't appeared there, and she turned her back on them, immediately crossing her arms.

"Okay, we have to come up with some plan, before Hawkmoth gets some mad idea and this gets worse than it already is," she announced, determined footsteps taking her across the terrace as she started to pace. "We know we can't trick the Collector into stepping away from that drawing, we have been trying that this entire time. We also know we can't hold our own against him. But there has to be something we haven't tried. There has to be."

Ladybug stopped in front of where Adrien had just sat, her arms crossed.

"Ideas, Chat?"

Having just started to shake his head, Adrien ended up raising his eyes.

"What about Lucky Charm?"

Ladybug sighed.

"I told you, Chat, Lucky Charm doesn't give us what I want," she explained, the frustration that was written on her face leading her straight back to pacing and down a path that lead her from this line of drying laundry to a group of chairs. "Not that I would know what that is supposed to be even if it did and—"

Ladybug had just started to bit her lower lip.

"What if I use Lucky Charm without having any idea of what we should be doing, it give us something random and we ran out of time?" she hypothesized. "Hawkmoth is here. We can't run the risk of de-transforming when—!"

Adrien raised his head from the hand he was pressing his forehead with. Golden hair again falling to his face and the black mask around his eyes, he pulled himself to his feet, he reached out for Ladybug's shoulder just as her new round of pacing took her passed him.

"We need something," he told her, once she stopped and her large blue eyes went to face his. _"_ _ _Anything,__ Milady."

Her expression deathly serious, Ladybug was anything but convinced.

"And if don't know what to do with it?" she said. "What then?"

Adrien let his hands fall away from Ladybug's shoulder, a pained smile reaching for his face.

"We don't know what do _now."_

Ladybug had just pressed her lips, seemingly finding no answer to that. A moment of hesitation and she stepped away from him, taking her yo-yo out of her belt. What followed was something Adrien had seen happen thousands of times already, Ladybug tossed her yo-yo up, the words "Lucky Charm!" crossed her lips and a moment later something came tumbling down from this flash of light above her, diving straight for Ladybug's outstretched hands.

Whatever Lucky Charm had come up with this time, it was something small. Really small. It was—

Adrien ran passed the clothes line and to where Ladybug was standing, looking at whatever lied on the palm of her right hand. His hope, however, turned into confusion when he saw what it was she had there.

A ring.

A weird ring that showed two hands holding a heart. He had absolutely no idea what that was or what was supposed to mean. Ladybug on the other hand—

"It's a Claddagh ring," she told him once Adrien stopped at her side, and, picking it between two fingers, she held it against the stars on the night sky, a thoughtful frown going through her face.

Adrien, on the other hand, could but stare.

"A _what?"_

"A Claddagh ring," Ladybug repeated, glancing his way, the wind that was going over the rooftops hitting her raven black hair. "It represents family. Mom has one of—"

Ladybug snapped her mouth shut, giving Adrien a penetrating glance.

"You didn't hear that."

Adrien couldn't even force a smile, he couldn't think of a joke, not even a good-humored _"Heard what?"._ Instead, he had reached for the ring, he was going over it the same moment Ladybug dropped it on his hands. What—?

"What are we supposed to do with this?" Ladybug whispered, finishing his silent question. She was looking around now, moving back and forth as she did so, her eyebrows pressed together, squinting. "Come on. Come on, Ladybug, think. _Think—"_

She had just stepped on something. The unmistakable sound of cracking glass making the two of them look down, towards the beige stone slabs of the terrace and some sort of rectangular object that was even now resting right under Ladybug's left foot.

"I think Lucky Charm dropped something else," Adrien whispered right as Ladybug stepped back, looking between the ring Adrien had just returned to her and the object in the floor, her eyebrows raised in confusion. "It looks like some sort of box—"

Adrien had just dropped to one knee, the small shake he gave to the object seeing glass fall to the floor before he turned it and immediately froze. This thing he was holding—This was _**not**_ a box. Also, it had definitely _not_ come out of Lucky Charm. First, and most glaring, it was not red in any way. And second, because this thing, this frame belonged in his father's atelier, on the shelves to back of the room. It was the one that held his old drawing, that drawing he had made of himself and his parents, the same one his father had always kept with him, even when they had moved to the Loire and came back to Paris.

How on earth had this ended up here? Also _—_

Adrien stared into the lines in front of him in confusion, he did so before turning the frame on his hand and going to open the back.

Why was the drawing folded? Why was it that he and his mother were the only ones there? Who had—?

The answer came the same moment Adrien took the drawing from within, it came just as he unfolded it again and the lonely crayon figure that had been alone and invisible, pressed against the back of the frame, come back to view.

Adrien looked to the side, away from the drawing, and over the many many rooftops and terraces around him, he looked all the way to where tiles and cement and color gave way to black and white lines, to the place where they had left the Collector. To the place where is father was.

 _Why would you—?_

 _Why?_

"Adrien," Ladybug suddenly spoke, his name on _her_ voice shocking Adrien so much he almost launched himself into a thoughtless _"_ _ _Yes?"__ before snapping his mouth shut and looking around searching for her. He didn't have to look far. Ladybug was standing right at his side, she too was studying the drawing, eyes going over the letters written in crayon.

"Adrien," she read again, comprehension and something else, something that made her eyes gleam, that made her smile, making her attention jump between the drawing between Chat Noir's gloved fingers and the ring she held in hers. "That's it, Chat! Adrien! Don't you see? We have to talk with him! I will—!"

The excited note to her voice faded. So did her smile. For a moment, Ladybug stood there, the city's rooftops behind her, her eyes going up and down Chat Noir's masked face, excitement giving way to worry, and looking just like she was remembering the way he had been behaving.

"I will—" she whispered.

Ladybug closed her eyes and although it seemed to break her heart, even it seemed to take all her strength, in the end she grabbed Adrien's hands, she gave him the ring.

"Chat, I will keep the Collector distracted while _**you**_ get Adrien," she told him and marched to the edge of the terrace taking the yo-yo out of her belt, twirling it, tossing it to wrap around the nearest lamp post. "I left him near the park. He can help us. He must know how to stop the Collector!"

Ladybug jumped. Left behind, seeing her swing away, Adrien went back to look at the frame.

 _He does,_ he thought. For the first time, for the very first time, he actually knew what Lucky Charm was trying to say.

"Claws in," Adrien whispered once his feet hit the floor on very narrow alley, Hawkmoth being around making having made him ran all the way here, were Ladybug had left him, before allowing the transformation to fall, before allowing Plagg to appear in front of him, a confused look on his eyes.

"Why am I here?" the kwami asked, looking up at the tall walls that flanked them, at the drawing of Place des Vosges passed the alley's entrance, the stench coming from this long line of green dumpsters and the garbage spilling from inside a bag on the floor, making him cover his nose. "What are we doing back here?"

Fingers clasped around his old drawing, a last look being given at it, Adrien folded the sheet, putting it inside the pajama's chest pocket, and threw the broken frame aside.

"I am stopping this," Adrien announced.

Floating at his side, still covering his nose, Plagg cackled.

"Of course, you are!" he exclaimed, for a moment looking like he was going to lean against the alley's wall. "That is what we have been doing—"

It seemed to hit him. It seemed to hit Plagg right then. What was in Adrien's mind. Why Chat Noir wasn't here anymore. Why he, Plagg, was.

 _"_ _ _No!"__ Plagg cried out, hand falling away from his nose and darting to stand in front of Adrien, to block him from reaching the drawn park beyond the alley, arms wide open. "He is going to hurt you!"

Adrien smiled, right hand caressing Plagg's head.

"It's just Father, Plagg," he reminded him. "He won't hurt me."

Plagg got closer to Adrien.

"I know he wouldn't normally, but he is not himself— _Adrien!"_

Adrien was leaving already, moving passed the line of dumpsters, stepping right over the garbage bag on the floor and out of the alley, leaving Plagg to dart after him, to dive inside his pocket, to look up, a nervous _"_ _ _Adrien"__ rising from his lips.

The battle was in full swing when Adrien finally managed to get back to Ladybug, and to say she was biding her time was being overly optimistic about what truly was going on.

Trying to remain on this patch of reality the Collector had kept, right in the middle of his drawing of Place des Vosges, Ladybug was visibly in trouble. In fact, the Collector had just managed to kick her away from safety, he had sent her flying into his drawing, and as Ladybug hit the ground, as she tried to get to her feet she found herself stuck. A hand, the drawn hand belonging to one of the drawings had just risen from the lines, it had closed around her left wrist, keeping her pined on stop.

Eyes widening in horror when the upper hand of the drawing released itself from the ground—and it was not just the upper body of any drawing but that of Sabine Dupain-Cheng—Ladybug tried to struggle herself away, she tried to release herself and if Adrien had arrived just a pair of seconds later the word 'disaster' wouldn't suffice to describe what would have happened.

Standing on top of this sophisticated-looking fountain, the drawn lines that mimicked water running right passed his feet, The Collector had just thrown his sketchbook. It was cutting through the air right now, flying low over grass and gravel paths, and heading straight for where Ladybug was still stuck in place, still struggling with Sabine's drawing. It was heading right for her and it would no doubt have gotten her, if Adrien hadn't jumped between the sketchbook and Ladybug, if the horror immediately flashing through the Collector's face hadn't made him clench the hand he still held in front of him.

The sketchbook lost all momentum that same instant, it crashed to the floor, opening a long depression on the gravel as it went. Her upper body still outside the lines on the ground, the drawn Sabine looked at Adrien, and she too fled, her rapid retreat leaving her to stream through the floor, just as Ladybug eyes bulged and she tried to make a grab at the Collector's fallen sketchbook. She wouldn't have been able to reach it even if Adrien hadn't grabbed her arm, pulling her the other way, back to the patch of reality: the sketchbook was already flying back, it hit the Collector's hand right as they come to stop, just as very real gravel went to bite into Adrien's feet.

"What are you doing?" Ladybug asked in a whisper once they stopped, and only for alarm to immediately take over her eyes, for her to look around. "Chat! Where is he?!"

"He got caught up by some drawings," Adrien lied, putting the ring Lucky Charm had given Ladybug back on her hand. "He told me to give you that."

Ladybug looked at her own hand, then at him.

"What are going to do?"

Adrien let go of her hand.

"Trust me on this."

The Collector landed in front of them just as Adrien finished speaking. His feet hitting the drawn lines of his imagined version of Place des Vosges, he stood to his full height, one hand pulling back the short locks of white and black hair that were falling to his forehead, burning red eyes glued to Adrien.

"Move," the Collector ordered.

Adrien didn't even flinch.

"No."

"I am telling you to get out of the way!"

"No."

"I am doing this for you!"

Adrien's expression saddened. Eyes never leaving the burning red ones that were locked with his, he stepped towards the Collector, he walked away from Ladybug and the real world where she belonged, and entered the drawing, he stopped only when he and the Collector were right in front of each other.

"Don't," Adrien told him.

And he let his forehead rest against the Collector's chest.

The Collector froze.

He froze just like his father always did. He stood there like he didn't know what to do, like he had no idea how to react. The Collector stood there—but it must be his father who was here, he must be here like he hadn't in a very long time for he had put one of his arms around Adrien's shoulders. And he hugged him. He hugged him.

"Please," Adrien whispered into the Colletor's chest, arms locking around him. "Please, come back."

There was this sound, like something had just fallen to the floor and that same instant Ladybug appeared at their side, skidding over the drawn pebbles, fleeing the Collector's reach. She hadn't need to worry about him, though. He made no gesture to follow her or to step away from Adrien. He didn't even as Ladybug prepared to rip the sketchbook in half and, instead, saw a butterfly flying out of the pages.

A white cloud surrounded the Collector. Flying right over him, a small butterfly, a butterfly so white it looked like it was made of pure light, dived into the night, flying right into the same real patch where Adrien had stood just a moment ago. Seeming to be searching for something, it flew and flew until it glimpsed a pair hiding behind a group of trees, recognition taking it down towards the place where a small purple kwami stood, to where a woman with dark hair was taking a drawn flower from inside the scarf around her shoulders, to where she had just out it over her hand.

"Lady?" Nooroo called out to her, the butterfly landing silently on his hands.

Nathalie didn't answer, her eyes resting on the drawn carnation the Collector had given her just like she wished to bind it to memory, like by sheer force of will she could keep it with her—in the end, however, the flower faded, taken by the same red light that restored the world, in its place, only a small lifeless bud remained.

Gazing into the distance for a moment, Nooroo turned back to Nathalie, the small gesture he made with his hand leading her attention to the wooden carousel in the distance and this stone fountain next to which Gabriel and Adrien stood.

"Won't the she join them?" Noroo asked, kindly, and just as Ladybug aimed for the rooftops, leaving Gabriel and Adrien on the park, alone. "Doesn't she belong there too?"

Sorrow overtook Nathalie's heart, a last glance at the lifeless bud resting on her palm, and she turned her hand, letting it fall to the ground, letting it disappear among the grass.

"Lady?"

Nathalie shook her head, arms returning to her side.

"I don't belong there, no," she said.

A glance being taken to where Adrien had just forced his father to sit at the fountain's border, Nooroo took flight from the branch where he had sat, he hovered for a pair of seconds at Nathalie's side, hesitating, before landing on her shoulder.

"I didn't mean to hurt her," he apologized.

"You didn't hurt me," Nathalie said and Nooroo dropped his eyes to the butterfly on his hands, the pain that was on Nathalie's heart now his own.

"I did," he whispered. "I'm—"

Nooroo didn't get a chance to say he was sorry. Nathalie had just shook her head, she was looking at him.

"You don't look well," she pointed out.

"I just need to eat," Nooroo explained. "I can wait until we get home."

Nathalie had just frowned, a whisper of _"home"_ going through her lips as she glanced at Gabriel near to the fountain, looked back at Nooroo, and reached for the phone she kept on her skirt's pocket.

"Home," she now read, the message Nooroo could see on the display, those three words he had written this very morning, making Nathalie's expression fill with comprehension. "Home..."

Her attention flew back towards he fountain, back towards where Gabriel stood.

"The Loire Valley is home," she whispered and Nooroo didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't— "You sent this."

It wasn't what she said next.

"You didn't tell me your name," Nathalie said to him.

No, it wasn't that in any way.

"The Lady knows my name," Nooroo started to say and stopped.

That wasn't what she had meant, was it? And now he was taking flight, he was hovering in front of Nathalie, watching her wrap his holder's scarf closer around her shoulders, folding it carefully so it would hide the Miraculous, he was watching her _leave_. It was either answering her now or never getting a chance to.

"I'm Nooroo!"

Nathalie went back to studying him. And she might not trust him, she might not like him, maybe Nooroo would never get a chance to fix things with her, but hers were still the first kind words he had heard in a very long time.

"Thank you, Nooroo."

And with that Nathalie stepped away from the trees that had hid the two of them, she stepped into the path and moved away from him. It took a startled Nooroo a moment to notice she had turned her back on the fountain, that she was making her way towards the park's entrance, that she was stepping away from his holder, from Adrien. Alone.

"Lady," Nooroo called out and he waited until the soft rustling of pebbles stopped, until Nathalie stood right in the middle of the path, facing him with raised eyebrows.

"She is going the wrong way," Nooroo whispered.

The butterfly took flight with his words, calling Nathalie's attention away from where Nooroo stood, still surrounded by the green bushes and naked tree branches where they had hid, and towards the fountain, towards the pair that was there.

Nooroo could see Nathalie swallow, fingers closing nervously around the Miraculous as she watched Adrien fretting over his father and then turning back to where Nooroo stood, like she was questioning if she should trust him, if she should listen. In the end, she took a deep breath and signaled at him to enter the scarf. Covering Nooroo with it when he flew across the path to hide in there, Nathalie stepped towards the fountain.

As unsure as she was about this, all it took was seeing Adrien running her way for a soft smile to reach her face.

"I was telling Father, you had to be here too!" Adrien exclaimed, pulling her towards the fountain, towards where Gabriel sat, his eyes avoiding Nathalie's gaze, going to rest on the gravel around his feet. "Are you alright? Did you—?"

"Adrien!"

Adrien turned, his gaze moving passed the fountain and towards one of the garden's path, a path a large group was now climbing up, the two teenagers to the front waving enthusiastically at him.

A huge smile now on his face, a single step taking him their way, Adrien nevertheless stopped, hesitating, a glance bringing him back to where Gabriel sat.

"Go," he said.

Adrien's eyes widened, surprise leaving him staring at Gabriel for a moment before he hugged for a second and half-ran, half-limped towards his friends.

Staring after him, fingers going to close over the empty air where Adrien's arms had closed around his shoulders, Gabriel went to gaze at the ground for an instant, before taking his gaze back up, to Nathalie.

" _That_ was you," Gabriel whispered, gaze against fleeing towards Adrien, the slow cascading water of the fountain singing behind his words.

Watching Adrien join his friends, the tall boy that had called to him and the curly haired girl that was to his side pulling him into an embrance, Nathalie shook her head. She turned back to Gabriel.

" _That_ was him," she said.

Letting his attention linger on his son for a few moments, Gabriel looked back at Nathalie.

"Thank you."

Hiding inside the scarf, Nooroo could feel Nathalie's surprise before it reached her eyes, he could feel her relief—and he could something deeper, something stronger, something he had long known was there. And so, he watched from the scarf as his holder got back to his feet and stepped towards Nathalie, he watched as they turned their backs on the park and started to leave side by side.

Dropping his eyes, Nooroo knew, he just knew, they were heading the wrong way.

"Wait!"

Nooroo went straight, a soft flutter going through his wings as Nathalie turned and he saw a solitary figure running away from the circle of people to the other side of the fountain.

Maybe he was just being naive right now.

Maybe he was just tired.

Maybe things would never stop being hopeless and he would never get a chance to be with Plagg and Tikki and everyone else ever again, but the figure coming in their direction was Adrien. He had just skidded to a stop in front of them. He was here, standing right in front of his father and Nathalie, pointing to the group behind him with a huge smile on his face. And before the wave of anxiety sweeping over Gabriel could spill out of his lips to form a resounding "No," before Nathalie had a chance to look between father and son and figure out a middle ground, Adrien had reached forth and grabbed both the elegant pale hand belonging to Nathalie and the far larger calloused one belonging to his father and pulled both of them with him.

They were making their way to the fountain now, across the garden path and to where the small group Adrien had left was gathered.

Nestled inside the scarf, eyes round with surprise, Nooroo let his attention wander towards Nino and Alya, towards this young lady who, _perhaps_ , looked a little like Ladybug and who was standing with her parents, clear blue eyes going to meet Adrien and immediately taking refuge on the floor, at Adrien himself who still stood in the middle of Nathalie and Gabriel, holding onto them, like he was afraid they would flee.

The soft fabric of the scarf closing in front of him, Nooroo stepped back, going to lean so close to Nathalie's chest he could hear her heartbeat.

He had no idea why, but this moment right now, of standing among this group who didn't even know he was here, this moment of not knowing Tikki was right in front of him hiding inside Marinette's pajamas, eating a piece of candy, that Plagg was right to his left, belly up inside Adrien's pocket and licking his fingers, cheese already gone, was the happiest he had been in centuries.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

Thank you for your comment, **Guest** and **Dark**! It was great hearing from you!

Between us when I first watched "The Collector" this was how I thought he would be brought down, as we all know I was wrong! But, yeah, that episode was my favorite for a long long time, and that little scene between the Collector and Adrien was one of the reasons I sat down to write TSAR :)

And so this long-running chapter is finally finished XD This means we are going into new and hopefully better things. Next chapter is titled "Rot" and it will go over Gigantitan, Glaciator and Sapotis. I'm also glad - oh my god, I'm so glad - to inform there won't be any sort of battles for the first three parts. "Rot" is fully planned out, it has four parts, so let's keep our fingers crossed it cooperates and starts being published soon!

See you around :) or, for those who are there, discord!

Please leave a comment and... Until next time!

~Windcage


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